


Plums & Peaches (Timeline 40 Redux, Part 1)

by SimplyAlexei



Series: Plums & Peaches (Timeline 40 Redux) [1]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Typical Substance Abuse, Canon Typical Violence, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Headaches & Migraines, Multi, Slow Burn, The Slow Burn to End All Slow Burns, no beta we die like men, season 1 rewrite, seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:02:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23826544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimplyAlexei/pseuds/SimplyAlexei
Summary: Arielle was a completely adequate Magician - perfectly tolerable and disgustingly competent with her potions, spells, and sigils; still, her entire class treated her as a charity case to be coddled and pitied. Clairvoyance was a rare skill, likely because Darwinism was a blatantly biased bitch. Humans could only evolve so much to accommodate the infinite magic of time and space running through their brains. An overcharged engine was going to burn out eventually, and eventually always happened sooner rather than later. It was her destiny to reveal the secrets of the universe, guide others on the path of least resistance, and die at a very young age.OrThe AU that no one asked for where Arielle is a psychic student at Brakebills. Cue time loop shenanigans! Arielle-centric~
Relationships: Arielle & Eliot Waugh, Arielle & William "Penny" Adiyodi, Arielle/Quentin Coldwater, Arielle/Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: Plums & Peaches (Timeline 40 Redux) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1734253
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	1. Don't I Look So Happy Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Key players are introduced. Arielle's brain is trying to explode. Eliot is obnoxious and willfully ignorant. Oops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Regulars" by Allie X
> 
> Welcome to the new Chapter 1! If you've already read the prior first chapter, I still highly suggest rereading this one. It still acts an an introduction of Arielle to each of the main cast, but some of the circumstances are different or expanded upon. Plus the ending shifts into a completely different narrative direction than the original, so, like, that's important. It literally went from about 5000 words to just under 15000.

* * *

_**ELIOT ** _

Parties at the Physical Cottage were notorious. Many wild misadventures began there, though most participants in those misadventures couldn't recall exactly what they did. Only their senses retained a phantom remembrance - sweat trickling down their skin, their hearts beating in time with the bass, static dancing across their synapses. The specific activities of their evenings may have been lost to their clouded minds, but their bodies remained evidence of what every party-goer knew to be the singular universal truth of the night. 

It was a good time.

Stepping into a Cottage party was an overwhelming experience for anyone who hadn't been to one before. The fog of monotonous campus life cleared for the hyper awareness of sound and bodies. It smelled of drugs, and perfume, and the stress melting from muscles in sweat and hormones. It was all of a sudden too bright and sharp, and Arielle quite nearly stumbled back out onto the front porch when the intensity of it hit her full force. 

It wasn't like it was her first Brakebills party - the other disciplines held their own from time to time - but it was her first time at a Cottage party, and it was like being sucked into an entirely new reality. She didn't realize how long she had been hovering in the entryway until someone approached her.

He introduced himself as Todd as he shepherded her into the fray. He was a physical student and an upbeat guide. He was also kind and seemed excited to be able to give her a quick tour. He wasn’t put off by her muted responses, which was a point scored in his direction. It was a trick that she'd mastered, looking happy just to appease others, but it didn't feel necessary to throw up that wall as he pointed out notable residents and campus icons. He'd apparently taken it upon himself to familiarize her with the environment, as though he knew she wasn't one of the party regulars. Well, it was probably obvious to him given her stunned entrance. Luckily for her, he didn't cling and was soon off to help another lost looking student while she settled into a comfortable window nook. It was nestled on outskirts of the crowded living room facing the front of the house, and it gave her a solid view of the space around her.

Arielle didn't really know what to do with herself in this environment. She was invited along by one of her roommates who'd been invited by one of the hosts, but both of her threadbare connections had long since disappeared. They were nowhere to be found before she even took her first steps onto the porch outside. She was a bit surprised that the faculty had yet to take any action to shut down such a large and obvious operation. Granted, they would have had to muster the effort to track down the ever relocating site of the Physical students' home base, but the lack of policy enforcement on what was clearly a blatant disregard of campus rules just made the few violations that were actually addressed seem that much more hypocritical. Sure, here the students were just letting loose and trying to relax, but they were also literally doing lines of cocaine off of the porch railing if her view from the window was any indication. She grimaced, thinking about the painful splinters bound to happen. 

She might have been a little grumpy. She honestly didn't even know why she was there in the first place. It wasn't like her roommate put forth too much effort to drag her along, and it wasn't really her scene; her scene being the view of the sky as she stretched out in the grassy Sea. She preferred the feel of the sun on her skin and the breeze in her hair to the flush of alcohol on her cheeks and a body gyrating against hers. The shock of just how massive the party was began to wear off, but now all she was feeling was stuffy, uncomfortable, and out of place. She was very seriously considering pinching a bottle of wine and finding her way back to her room alone. 

A cocktail glass appeared less than a foot in front of her face, breaking her line of sight and her train of thought. She entertained the split second worry that one of the psychics had impossibly slipped past her wards and caught her mental deliberation. 

"No one is allowed to be this _meh_ at one of my parties." Eliot Waugh raised a well manicured, but highly unimpressed eyebrow and tilted his head to the alcoholic beverage he held aloft. Not a psychic then, just a very observant host. 

The concept of popularity in grad school seemed like cheap, unrealistic nonsense. It was something endorsed by Hollywood media in order to entice audiences into watching their badly written television pilots, but Eliot? Eliot was popular in the most ridiculously cliche sense of the word. Whether because they loved him, hated him, or fucked him - usually it was some combination of the three - everyone knew him. Arielle herself was curious but mostly ambivalent towards the telekinetic. They were in the same year, and she knew that they'd shared one or two introductory courses. He was quite the brilliant magician when he deigned to actually show up. He was charismatic and talented, but he had emotional armor on so thick that is suffocated her to even think about. She didn't find anything genuine in either his kindness or his acid tongue and it was something that grated at her more than she liked to admit.

He was also apparently someone who was much too confident that a girl he'd never actually spoken with before would take an open drink from a stranger. Well, let him be on his way with his smirk and great jawline to coax another wallflower into debauchery. She could get her own drinks. Honestly, the worst he could do was kick her out, and it's not like she would be super heartbroken if it came to that. 

Gods, all of the noise was starting to make her head hurt, and she really didn't need that when it was something avoidable. 

"Sorry," She pulled at her jacket, wrapping it farther around her chest and crossing her arms to hold it in place. "The first thing a girl learns is not to accept mystery beverages from pretty boys." She might actually feel apologetic for her short tone once her mood wasn't so dour, but sarcasm was her second language tonight, it seemed. 

She couldn't quite tell if the pursing of his lips was from displeasure or amusement, but it sharpened the angles of his face in a way that was admittedly quite attractive. She had the fleeting thought that is was too bad that she was _really_ not his type. Male privilege struck in the most devious ways sometimes. She could at least pretend for the moment that he was sizing her up with his keen hazel eyes because he thought that she was pretty too; not because she might have offended his delicate sensibilities as a bartender and host. 

Sometimes a girl needed to grab her own ego boost by the neck, and there was absolutely nothing wrong with that. 

He appeared to come to a decision, retracting the glass and taking his own sip from it. "Your lilting tongue says no, but your eyes say that is just needs to be the right drink. I have the perfect one in mind." The comment was flippant, meant to draw her attention and prove his charm. He looped his free hand around her elbow, pulling her off balance and tugging her crossed arms loose. The crowd of people shifted around them, opening to make a path for him to drag her toward the bar.

She blinked and just as suddenly his hand was slipping weakly away. He'd turned his head to look back at her and say something but whatever is was stuck in his throat. Instead, he stared at her in confusion, the concentrated attention throwing her further off balance. Her own confusion matched his. The starting and stopping of whatever his intention had been was abrupt and socially dissonant; that was to say, until his eyes brightened, sparkling with the adrenaline of apparently having solved some sort of mystery.

"Ah." There was curious acknowledgement ringing in the timbre of the single syllable, and that innocuous sound sparked the realization of what'd caused him pause. "The Psychics' pet clairvoyant."

Well, that was a surprisingly rude way to put it.

Normal circumstances would have her bristling at the implication, but she kind of appreciated the lack of judgement in his blunt words. It was rare for anyone outside of her discipline to have any clue who she was, which was nice, but whispers of her ran rampant within it. 

Arielle was a completely adequate Magician - perfectly tolerable and disgustingly competent with her potions, spells, and sigils; still, her entire class treated her as a charity case to be coddled and pitied. Clairvoyance was a rare skill, likely because Darwinism was a blatantly biased bitch. Humans could only evolve so much to accommodate the infinite magic of time and space running through their brains. An overcharged engine was going to burn out eventually, and eventually always happened sooner rather than later. It was her destiny to reveal the secrets of the universe, guide others on the path of least resistance, and die at a very young age. 

Also, the pain after each episode was the worst kind of rising tide, the irony of which was not lost on her.

It was infinitely more frustrating that she couldn't even be privy to her own revelations. She didn't remember what she said or even that she'd said anything at all. Her brain smoothed it over with a nice neat patch, filtering and filling in the blanks with something safe to keep her from (probably) going insane. It was only the acknowledgement of others that clued her into the manifestation of her unique abilities. 

Eliot, having made sense or at least accepted whatever weird thing she'd revealed to him, resumed his mission of dragging her over to the bar and seducing her taste buds. She made a habit of not asking what her little truths were about if the other party didn't want to talk about it, actually preferring to remain in the dark because some of it was very personal to the focus of her vision. That was clearly the case in this instance. Not that she wasn't curious, of course she was, but the pensive draw of Eliot's forehead kept her quiet. Oh gods, This had the potential to get awkward. 

It was no matter, apparently, because his emotional armor easily slipped back into place as he focused instead on the task at hand.

Watching Eliot mix drinks was weirdly sensual, and Arielle took a moment to appreciate his finesse. She couldn't profess to know much of anything about the art of mixology, but he had a flair that made it look like more of an elaborate dance than the utilitarian act the blending together ingredients. He was all fluid motion and confidence, never pausing or wavering before grabbing the next component. His telekinesis obviously added to the effect, and if he was anywhere as close to as intuitive with his magic as he was behind the bar then it was no wonder he was such a talented magician.

She could pinpoint the exact moment her curious ambivalence shifted ever so slightly towards stirring respect - ah, the power of alcohol.

He presented her new drink with a practiced flourish, not quite allowing the glass to rest on the polished wooden bar top. His gaze was expectant, a dark stray curl falling over his forehead, and she felt not qualms in accepting the chilled, sugar rimmed glass. She'd watched him prepare it, after all. If she were being honest, she'd really only refused the earlier offer out of her stubborn need to wallow in her own bad mood - how dare someone try to make her have a good time when she clearly didn't want to - but now she had no reason to refuse. She may have been grumpy, but she wasn't rude, and he did take the time to craft something specifically for her.

Drawing the narrow straw past her lips, she took a tentative sip. It was sweet. Her palette wasn't particularly discerning, so she probably wasn't as appreciative of the complex flavors swirling over her tongue, but it was good.

"Is this-" She took another pull, noting the familiar undercurrent of tang just barely hidden by a light and familiar nectar. "-Peach?"

He shook his head with a knowing grin. "Nectarine, but close."

"They're basically the same fruit," she scoffed, and he didn't seem to take her joking abrasiveness too close to heart, instead matching it with his own. 

"That is sacrilegious!"

Whatever awkwardness had passed through him before had faded, and soon he was waving her off and dramatically grumbling about fruits and heathens. Staying at the party didn't seem quite as daunting after the encounter. Surprisingly, Todd appeared to take it upon himself to keep her company in between his rounds, and occasionally a new cocktail would float her way. When it did she took special care to tip her glass in thanks to the bartender.

* * *

**_ MARGO _ **

There were very few things that Arielle hated more than waking up. It wasn't even necessarily because she liked to sleep. The act of waking was just an awful one.

She would shift and turn while drifting off, never quite finding a position that was comfortable for her often aching body, but once sleep sunk into her bones it kept her motionless and silent. It was returning to the land of the living that felt like death. Muscles that'd settled into sweet atrophy made their protests loud and present, and no amount of stretching could appease them of their anger. Her mind sluggishly followed their lead, more often than not clouded with pain and thoughts still half stuck in her dreams. Her capacity for function was limited to blinking for the first ten minutes of wakefulness, not quite taking in the world around her until both her brain and body accepted the loss of stagnation. 

Her episodes of clairvoyance only made this process worse. 

The amount of magic it took for even one glimpse into the future typically required several magicians to channel, unless one of them was particularly bent on becoming a niffin. All of that power ran through her head for an instant when a vision occurred. It left her dazed in the hours following, migraines flaring up after a short time like the delayed sound of thunder after a lightning strike miles away. It was like a bruise that she hardly noticed being inflicted but that soon became a pulsating ache that couldn't be ignored. 

It wasn't surprising to Arielle that this was the undertaking to greet her the next morning. Most certainly her condition was not helped by the accompanying hangover, but in for a penny in for a pound. She knew what had awaited her, and she figured she might as well have a good time before it grabbed a hold - or, at least, that became her reasoning after that third not-peach drink. Somewhere along the way she found that bottle of wine that she'd considered seeking out, and she enjoyed it well into the evening. Was it worth it? Probably not, but it wasn't like it could actually make things much worse. A migraine and a hangover were quite similar; she was pretty sure she drunkenly explained that to someone the night before after taking a swig directly from the wine bottle. 

Both conditions sucked.

Her first conscious thought outside of _pain_ was that she picked the worst possible pillow to pass out on. It was overstuffed and square, probably a throw pillow meant more for decoration than comfort, and it had very little give against the side of her head. It didn't cushion her skull so much as it felt like it were crushing it, and the itchiness of the embossed pattern became apparent when she shifted to find a less agonizing position. Great, that pattern was likely pressed into her cheek like an awful neon sign of the previous night’s activities. The other, larger cushions provided absolutely no support to the natural curves of her body, and she was forced to curl up on their narrow width. She was on a couch, she realized, and not tucked into her own little bed.

The thought should have alarmed her. There were no couches in the living quarters shared by her discipline; they preferred floor level mats and pads as communal seating. It was the texture that reassured her - the divoted fabric brushing again her leg was the same fabric that she'd spent the latter half of the party petting her fingers across. She was still at the cottage, apparently having fallen asleep after polishing off her pilfered wine.

Despite the lack of blanket she felt uncomfortably warm with the morning sunbeams razing across her skin. In normal circumstances, she may have enjoyed the balm of natural light and temperate heat, but given that she also felt like she may throw up at any moment, the warmth felt feverish rather than comforting. Opening her eyes was an exercise in stubborn willpower and masochism. The light was too bright and called the hammering in her temple to surge. You would think that a place that was so revered for it's parties would utilize black out curtains, though the lack of such certainly worked in their favor to deter overnight guests.

Obviously not well enough.

Her vision was blurred by eyelashes and semiconsciousness, but she managed to squint through the morning haze. There didn't appear to be an excess number of stragglers, though the signs and disarray of the party were evident. Eliot may have made custom cocktails in crystal glasses, but disposable plastic for cheap alcohol was still the majority indulgence of the evening.

All of that was background noise to the saturated pink that took up the forefront of her vision. Margo, her brain supplied, was more put together after a night of partying than Arielle had ever been in her entire life - regardless of sobriety. The glare of her flashy morning-after clothes might have triggered a headache just by themselves if she wasn't already battling one. Knowing what little she did about the woman from campus gossip, she wouldn't have been surprised if that in itself was an assertion of dominance. Margo was a powerful woman - simultaneously intimidating and mesmerizing - and her influence was only bolstered by her partnership with Eliot. Only the idiotic or naive assumed she was his sidekick, and neither of the two were afraid to aggressively correct the misconception. If anything Eliot was her sidekick. 

So, waking up to the visage of the woman towering above her with an unimpressed turn of her lips and manicured nails ready to strike?

Terrifying.

The best way Arielle could later describe the moment was that it was like staring into the eyes of a predator not knowing if they were about to tear you to shreds and desperately hoping that they would pass you by - move onto other prey. Silent tension hung heavily in the air, neither of the two women breaking eye contact.

"You look like shit," Margo announced without fanfare, her voice like spikes in Arielle's head. There was no pity in her voice. it was just a statement of fact, and that was honestly more of a relief than if she'd been sympathetic. Fangs hidden behind a smile were still fangs.

"I feel worse than I probably look." Arielle's response was little more than a raspy whisper. Her attempt to sit up was equally as pathetic, nausea fully rearing it's ugly head as she shifted from horizontal to vertical. She pressed her face down to her knees, not quite caring that both her literal and metaphorical back was to the predator. At least if she died her head would stop hurting.

"Maybe learn to hold your drinks better if you're going to party with us again." It was less of a suggestion and more of an order. The thought of being blacklisted from the cottage because they thought she was a lightweight was almost funny in an _if only that was the problem_ kind of way.

"Less hangover, more magic induced migraine," she explained anyway. "If it makes any difference."

"It doesn't, but 'A' for effort." The brunette marched off, the click of her heels a series of stabs in Arielle's head. She knew that she needed to make her way back to her room soon, and that once she did she could curl up in sweet, sweet isolated pain. The thought of standing up conjured anticipatory saliva in her mouth to protect from whatever was still in her stomach, so it would have to wait a little longer.

An object landed on the couch after knocking into her thigh. The fabric dulled the sound to something just on the edge of tolerable, but the surprise sent a shock of tension up her spine. She felt the coolness of the apparent gift through her pants, and her surprise was equally matched by her gratefulness. 

"Put that on the back of your neck," Margo instructed, and Arielle wasted no time complying. She pulled the ice pack wrapped in a thin cotton towel against the base of her skull. She murmured a quiet thanks, but the other woman just shrugged it off.

"You live in a house full of alcoholics and you learn a trick or two."

She didn't argue with the sentiment, staying quietly grateful for the abrasive show of understanding. The chill didn't take the pain away, but it did numb it to something more tolerable. She would have to invest in a few of her own to keep around. Margo didn't seem to care much about her presence after that, going about her business as if she weren't even there. It was only when Arielle managed to stand without vomiting that she was acknowledged by the other woman.

"You gonna pass out, or can you make it home?" She nodded, not bothering to correct her that student housing was hardly a home. She still felt gods awful, but she was confident she could brave the outside world long enough to cocoon herself back in bed. "Good, now get the fuck out."

She blinked, and felt herself smile. She gave her thanks once more and noted the intrigued expression on Margo's face before forcing herself out the front door and into the day lit hellscape that awaited her.

* * *

**_ QUENTIN _ **

When her brain wasn't attempting to murder her, there was little else that Arielle enjoyed more than basking in the splendor of nature. She felt at home with the sun caressing her skin, kneading her tense muscles into a puddle in sinew and flesh. She was cat-like in her lazing, all slow stretches and leisurely sprawling. She could waste an afternoon away just enjoying the warmth, the breeze, and the smell of nature.

It reminded her of her childhood playing in the forests surrounding her little village - it reminded her of a time before books, and cities and academia. Why she'd ended up doing something so tedious and boring as college rather than stay in the safety and shelter of the trees she had no clue. She often lamented it being an overwhelmingly stupid decision but was too stubborn not to see it through. 

The Sea was an okay alternative, all things considered. The indiscernible chatter of students going about their lives was close enough to the chatter of daytime birds that she didn't mind the different too much. There was, however, a sharp decline in the enjoyment of watching a squirrel race through the trees and that of watching someone squirrel away a notebook.

It was one of the few days that Arielle had nothing that required her immediate attention. She didn't have class, none of her assignments were pressing, and she was blessedly released from any social obligations by the singular nature of not being entirely sociable.

The lack of close friends was less depressing than it came across - she had plenty of people she was friendly with, but college was an environment where social links tended to be forged with roommates and classroom peers. Her roommates all walked on eggshells around her while preaching the natural empathy of their discipline. You would think that would make them more skilled in reading the room, but in reality their powers of literally feeling out people's emotions - instead of intuiting them through body language like functioning human beings - ended up being more of a crutch. They couldn't see her thoughts or feel her emotions, and so they didn't understand her; they didn't how annoyed all of their pestering made her. And when it came to classes, well, most second year classes were discipline based. The issue there was obvious.

So, self imposed isolation it was. Even her first year was a haze of cordial interactions that weren't particularly memorable. University life was books and studying which, again, was tedious and boring. Hence, the sunbathing. 

She supposed that she should be more worried about how the rays would freckle her skin, but it was a small price to pay for the delicious warmth. Her hair was tied up and off of her neck, and her pain was down to a solid four, so it was a good day. All she needed was a cool drink and a musical interlude, then she could suspend this day in time as her own personal heaven.

Perhaps she was more in tune with her future sight than she thought, because almost as soon as the idea finished crossing her mind her ears picked up on a soft humming. It was rough and out of tune, but she recognized the melody line after paying closer attention for a few bars. Amusement bubbled in her chest, bolstered by her already high spirits.

She squinted her eyes open, intent on locating the source of the sound. She may have been wearing sunglasses, but it was still a bright day and it took a moment for her pupils to adjust being the tinted lenses. Students still meandered around, most of them not straying from the stone paths that cut across the grass, including the path nestled directly in front of where she lay. No one sat near enough on her side of the lawn, and most of the other students were coming and going; definite detail that dismissed someone walking by was the volume of the sound, which remained mostly constant. There was, however, a boy sitting opposite her beneath the shade of a tall tree who seemed the likely candidate

He appeared to be studying, with a thick book in his lap and several more stacked up against his thigh. She had to wonder how he wasn't sweltering bundled up in his jeans and hoodie, and she briefly entertained that perhaps he was. He wouldn't be the first person to hide behind protective layers, trying to blend in with his environment. She was sure that his longer hair was, in part at least, a similar shield against the harshness of the world. His fingers moved through the motions of a few tuts in no particular order, pausing only to push some of that hair behind his ear. It was oddly entrancing, this nervous boy fidgeting in the shade. 

She couldn't be a hundred percent sure that he was the one humming, but reasonable and non-magical deduction made her relatively certain he was the source.

"Really?" She called out just loud enough to catch his attention. The humming stopped and he stared at her, frozen like a dear in headlights. "Taylor Swift?" She had to resist actually laughing, not wanting to scare him off, but she did grin with the urge to swaddle him up and whisk him away.

He must not have caught on that she was teasing, because he pulled his book up to his chest as if to protect from any phantom assaults. "I can stop. I should probably- I should head out anyway."

"Wait, no!" She quickly sat up from where she'd still been half lounging on her elbows. "I didn't mean it like it was a bad thing, I promise." She pushed her sunglasses up onto her forehead (she'd always felt uncomfortable talking with someone who's eyes she couldn't see and assumed the same of others just to be safe) and tried to catch his gaze, projecting all of her earnest intentions. She didn't know what to make of his blush when he finally managed to hold the eye contact, but it very nearly spread to her own cheeks. "I just meant," she added now that she had his full attention. "that it's kind of weirdly hilarious that we're at a school to learn ancient and mysterious magic, but, like, still listen to catchy pop tunes."

He didn't seem to fully understand her appreciation of the irony, but he also no longer looked like he was half a second from bolting either, so she counted it as a win. They almost settled back into silence, neither quite sure what to do with the interaction after it’s awkward and abrupt beginning.

"I'm Arielle, by the way. I'm not quite a 'Swifty' myself, but I do appreciate a strong woman unafraid to share her feelings." She figured that it would be a shame to let her good mood go to waste. She had the attention of a relatively cute guy, and wanted to keep it for a little while longer. Awkward, and a probably a bit nerdy, but definitely cute.

"Quentin," he introduced himself, waving and flashing her a slightly confused smile, like he couldn't quite figure out how he got pulled into her orbit. Okay, so maybe she was definitely going to flirt with him, but only a little. He seemed like the type to not think much of himself, and as much as she maintained that she could use the occasional ego boost, it felt so much better to fluff up someone else who deserved it.

"Well, Quentin-" She rested her chin on her palm, leaning forward so that he knew that he had _her_ full attention. "-is it too forward to ask you to come join me in the sun." She patted the grass next to her. "Get some vitamin D and feel the rush of adrenaline from courting death a la skin cancer."

"I'm pretty sure that the wards cover excessive UV exposure." Still, he clambered to his feet, nearly dropping the book in his arms when he leaned over to grab the others that’d tumbled from their precarious pile. He huffed, blowing his hair out of his face and straightening up with as much dignity as he could still maintain.

"What are you studying anyway?" She asked once he'd plopped down beside her. He was just a few feet away, still maintaining a respectable distance for two people who'd only just met. 

"Oh," He flushed further. " I wasn't- these are, uh," He trailed off, holding out one of the - what she now realized were - novels for her inspection. "Just reading for pleasure."

She took the proffered book, scanning the cover before flipping it over to read the back. It was clearly a well worn and well loved piece of literature. The corners were crinkled from being packed around, and the thick dust protector Was thinning and starting to tear where it wrapped around the edges of the hard binding. She was surprised that the cover hadn't been discarded yet, personally having no patients to maintain something that could so easily slip off while she was reading.

"The Girl Who Told Time?" She read the title questioningly, not recognizing the name or it's author.

"Yeah, it's actually book two. Of the _Fillory and Further_ series, I mean." He tapped the top of the pile novels stacked between them, and she saw that the covers, while different colors and sizes - different editions - were emblazoned with the series title in varied but similar fonts.

"I haven't heard of it," she admitted, flipping it open to continue her thorough inspection. "It sounds very magic syfy." She skimmed the first couple sentences, her fingers tracing over the paper.

"It's more low fantasy that straddles the line of high fantasy." She glanced over to find his gaze on the page that she'd opened to. There was a soft and indulgent smile on his lips. "It's technically a kid's series. Follows the adventures of the Chatwin children exploring this beautiful and magical land."

"I'm guessing that's what Fillory in then?" He nodded. "So they leave home and go on self affirming journeys that teach them lessons and life skills?"

"Not like what you're thinking." Quentin scooted a little closer, grabbing one of the other books and flipping it to a specific page. He leaned in, holding it out for her to look, though she still had to tilt her head to do so. Printed in fading ink was an illustration of a young girl climbing into a tall, standing clock. "They found The first portal completely by accident when they were staying with their aunt and uncle one summer."

She considered this for a moment. "It's a bit _Magic Treehouse_ , isn't it?"

He jerked away, staring at her with his brows furrowed and mouth slack before he burst into laughter. Arielle let herself get wrapped up into the warmth that bloomed through her chest. She was grinning back, as though she knew exactly why he'd broken into peals.

"I'm sorry," he said between small gasped breathes, breaking off again when more laughter bubbled up. "It's just that most people go with _Narnia_." He shook his head, his smile sweet and disbelieving now.

"I mean, yeah, if those people have no culture," she joked. "Anyone with half a brain knows that _The Magic Treehouse_ is the superior series."

"Well," his smile hadn't faded, and that warmth that she felt dug itself a little deeper with the shy way looked up at her from beneath his lashes. "I would argue that _Fillory and Further_ is superior to both."

"That is a bold statement, sir. You sure you can back that up?"

"The proof is literally in your hands," he pointed out, and this time she joined in on his amusement.

"I suppose it is, but I'll have to be the one to make the final verdict. I'm willing to bet that I could hunt down a couple copies to read in my free time." She would, too. If not because a silly fantasy adventure might be a nice way to unwind, then because Quentin had been so earnest in.

"I could-" he shrugged, looking away suddenly to focus on his lap and pick at the grass. "I could lend you mine."

She couldn't resist nudging his knee with her own playfully. "For all you know, I could be someone who lays books open faced down," she argued. "But seriously, these books are obviously very important to you, and I wouldn't want something to happen to them. I live with the Psychics, and an object with that much sentimental value would be like catnip to my roommates." His disappointment drug his shoulders up into a tense hunch, and she realized that she sounded like she was brushing him off - like she wasn't actually interested in the thing he'd been so excited to share. "However." She nudged his knee again. "I would be a hundred percent amenable to supervised book visits if you ever want to join me in my sun bathing again. You'll get some vitamin D and I'll have incentive not to abuse your books _too_ badly."

His returning grin absolutely lit up his face with relief. "Yeah, that, us, sounds like a permissible arrangement."

"Permissible?" She raised a brow teasingly. "Only if your majesty allows it, I suppose." She passed his book back, blinking against the sunlight with a soft expression.

His open face scrunched up in confusion. "No, there's no beast in these books, just the Watcher Woman, but even she is really more of a looming background antagonist than an actual monster."

"Beast?" Arielle questioned, taken aback on the sudden topic shift.

"Yeah, you just-" He seemed lost, his disorientation echoing her own. "Didn't you just-"

Oh

"I'm sorry." She reached out a hand. "My name is Arielle, and I'm Clairvoyant, so sometimes I say weird things about the future but don't actually remember saying them." She allowed herself a silent sigh of relief when he didn't hesitate to accept her offer of a reintroductory handshake.

"Oh, that's kind of really cool." She chose not to explain just how uncool it was. She typically went months between visions, but it had been less than a month since the one she had with Eliot. She desperately hoped this wasn't the start of a new pattern.

"Was my message at least mysterious and maybe a little seductive?" She asked, keeping the mood light to hide her mild anxiety.

He flushed again, so it may have been worth the impending migraine.

"You just said that the 'Beast will come from Fillory'"

"Huh, well that is sufficiently ominous, but probably not literal so much as literary." They laughed together, and she was relieved that she didn't say anything more, well, just more. She laid back out on the grass, stretching her limbs pleasantly while it was still something pleasant that she could do. "Speaking of things that don't make much sense, if you weren't studying then what was up with all the tutting earlier."

His perpetually pink cheeks deepened in heat. "I, uh, god this is really nerdy, but I was trying to work out if some of the spells and magic from the books might translate into applicable magic." The last part of his sentence was so under his breath she barely understood it.

She stared at him, wide eyed and gobsmacked, but also very thoroughly entertained. "Quentin," She admonished. "That's a fantastic way to accidentally fire off something and get yourself hurt!"

"I was just running the motions! I promise! No intent to fire!"

She shook her head, indulgent though she would probably need to actually have a serious chat with him about it later. For now though, the sun was nice and the company was nicer, and she was going to enjoy it.

* * *

**_ PENNY & ELIZA _ **

The pair of hands slamming onto her desk sent Arielle jolting back into her chair, nearly tipping it over and sending her sprawling onto the hardwood floor. They were mere inches from the notebook laid out in front of her to study, and the loud sound pierced her head. It rattled around and sent waves of pain radiating out from where it struck her eardrums.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" She hissed, cupping her skull between two shaking hands. She was just barely coming off of the several day episode that had gripped her following her little sunbathing adventure, and it was the first time she'd managed to drag herself out of the quiet of her room. She figured that the library would be the perfect space to re-acclimate herself to human interaction. Obviously, that was a mistake, if the jarring invasion of her personal space was any indication. She glared at the man hovering over her, and he glared right back with equal ire.

"I need you to explain what the hell you were talking about, right now." She was surprised to find that his voice wasn't as gruff as his attitude. It didn't take a genius to understand why he was asking something so specific, to the best of her knowledge, she'd been silently studying the material she'd fallen behind on.

Her stomach dropped, dread pulling it roughly to the floor more than gravity could ever manage. This couldn't be happening again. Not so soon. There was clearly something wrong, something big that was causing her visions to occur at an increasingly alarming rate. Whatever it was, she hoped that it would pass soon before she ended up in a coma - goodness knows the years being shaved off of her live were enough by themselves, no need to spend what time she had left unconscious.

"You'll have to tell me what it is that I said," she sighed, rubbing her tired hands down her face before pinching the bridge of her nose.

He bristled. "You're the one who said it." Yeah, obviously.

"Please." She didn't have time for this. She needed to get packed up and let her professors know that she was going to be a little later than expected with that makeup work. "Just humor me."

He remained silent for a beat, glaring at her like it was her fault he couldn't control his temper and had to come ruin her day. When he did finally clue her in, it was clearly with hesitance and distrust. 

"You said that I wasn't really a psychic."

"Oh." Really? All of that drama over that? "That's pretty straightforward. You're not really a psychic."

Back up went the hackles. "And how the fuck do you think you know anything about what I am or am not?" It was almost like he was looking for a reason to be angry. Arielle recognized the chip on his shoulder, found herself close to coping the same way more often than she would like to admit (grumpy was just her nicer way of putting it). She felt a pang of sympathy despite her own situation. Whatever he was, it was something that clearly caused a similar kind of damage in his life.

What was life as a magician if magic didn't screw you over at least once.

"To be completely honest, I have zero clue who you even are, let alone anything about you." He looked set to argue, but she cut him off before he could get another word in edgewise. "However, I actually am a psychic, so if that's what I said to you then it's a fact, not an opinion."

"It's bullshit is what it is." Even as he spit out the disagreement, his outrage seemed to deflate a fraction. "Everyone else is certainly ready to shove the fact up my ass." That was an interesting visual.

"Yeah, well how many of the others are clairvoyant? Let me save you the hassle. The answer is none of them are. I'm the only one on campus that I'm aware of." She pondered her own statement. "I may be even be the only one in the country with my luck."

That made him pause. He took a moment to really look at her, and she could only imagine what he saw. She was bone tired, with deep purple bruises under her eyes from lack of sleep. She never slept well once the pain hit full force. Her muscles ached too much to remain comfortable in any one position for more than a few minutes at a time, and while stretching helped to soothe them, it was difficult to achieve when any movement caused her head to swim and her stomach to lurch. The only way she could wear her hair was in a loose, messy bun because anything tighter increased the pounding in her temples tenfold. Even that was borderline, but it kept it out of the way of her shifting and squirming. The ice pack trick that Margo showed her was nominally helpful, but she was still exhausted, and in pain, and tender to every sight, smell, sound, and touch.

The mysterious not-psychic didn't know that, but he could clearly see and process the evidence of it because he stopped his obnoxious looming and instead pulled out a chair to sit. She cringed at the sound of the legs scraping across the wooden floor. It wasn't a super obvious flinch, but now that he seemed to be paying closer attention he saw it for what it was. He made a noise of what could possible even be interpreted as sympathy.

"Is there anything else you can tell me?" He asked quietly. It wasn't a soft, despite the low volume, and she wondered if the hard edge to his every word was just how he spoke.

"I don't even know your name," she admitted.

"Penny."

"Arielle." She sighed, rolling her shoulders and resisting the urge to rest the upper half of her body on the low table. She was really quite exhausted. "It's nice to meet you Penny, but I'm sorry. Clairvoyance doesn't work like that. I can't just tap in and out of it whenever I want or need to." If only that were the case, because then she could make the choice to never tap into it.

He sighed, leaning back into his chair and staring at the ceiling.

"Look," she said, drawing his attention back. "Typically, and by that I mean always, whatever I've said is for a reason. It's kumbaya crap to guide people down the right path. I'm assuming that means whatever you actually are presents itself like a psychic but isn't. It looks like gold but is actually fools gold. That's at least a starting place to figure it out." She didn't normally offer an opinion on these things because rarely did they actually have anything to do with her. It wasn't on her to figure people's shit out for them, but the slump in Penny's shoulders was familiar, though she wouldn't point it out because she was sure he'd deny it vehemently. She and him weren't the same, that much was obvious, but they were close enough.

Huh, maybe she _was_ an empath.

Probably not.

"It will at least stop you from wasting time chasing the obvious but wrong answer." Arielle shifted in her chair, feeling the bones of her spine clicking uncomfortably. Her muscles were still stiff, but she anticipated the atrophy of sleep might cause them to fully seize once more. Still, she knew she needed to rest while she still could and began gathering her things."

"Really, you don't need to leave, I can go." And what was it with men assuming that she wouldn't be clear and vocal if she wanted them to move. Penny sounded almost apologetic, and she suspected that itself was the closest thing to an apology that she would receive.

She shrugged, already standing and just taking a moment to realign her balance. "That's the price of power, Penny. I see the future and I get to spend the next few days fighting off the aftermath in the form of a killer migraine, and since I've been catching more and more glimpses lately I've already got a puke bucket in place." He made a face but didn't comment, and she half turned to leave. "All things considered, I wouldn't go so far as to say it was nice to meet you, but I'll be seeing you around since you'll probably get placed with the psychics anyway. Hit me up once the hippy vibe get's too much and we can compare notes on which of our roommates are screwing, and which ones are screwing but only in their heads." She left, satisfied with the almost smile she spotted Him struggling to hold back before fully turning away.

Penny seemed nice enough in the sense that he was actually kind of a genuine dick, and that genuineness was infinitely more appealing than people who preached kindness and understanding as a mask for having an actual personality. She'd have to see how he reacted to her casually self destructive powers before she passed judgement though. She had high hopes that he wouldn't treat her impending doom as something that defined her, or at least he wouldn't treat her like glass because of it. She was very much looking forward to an ally and partner in crime against the psychic menace that was the Consciousness Building.

Exiting the library into the sunny outdoors was not the most pleasant experience. The lighting in the library had been dim and intimate, a soft caress compared to the stabbing rays of the bright afternoon sun. Shades at the ready, she was prepared to trudge back to her room as much as a pallbearer stepping in time to a lonely dirge.

She didn't enjoy the heat on her neck or breeze on her skin as much as she had the other day when she was making a cute, nerdy boy blush. The smell of perpetually cut grass didn't refresh her lungs so much as make her nose itch, and she was annoyed that the school’s wards didn't keep out the loudly chattering birds. She shouldn’t have been but was always surprised how something she enjoyed so much one day could cause her to grind her teeth in annoyance the next. The body had a lot of power over the mind, but this just sucked. She wished she could enjoy the lively activity of the world around her, but it was hard when her attention was being swallowed whole. She fully blamed this total pull of focus when she full on crashed into a woman rounding the corner of the path leading to the administration building. 

Falling hurt. It seemed like an obvious point, but movies would have people believing that a small tumble was cute and quirky - a side effect from endearing clumsiness that resulted in more embarrassment than harm. No one mentioned the scrape of stone against knees or limbs jutting and tangling, digging into skin. No one cared about the ringing from teeth clashing or how an ankle twists trying to keep balance. No one would even think to consider how each jolt of sudden pain might be amplified by that already existing. 

If they did then they might understand why Arielle fully wished she would have just died. She was not someone who was loud in her pain. She didn't cry, moan, or really vocalize at all. Pain instead gripped at her vocal chords and released itself as a gasp or a choke. It stole the air from her lungs and refused to willingly return it. She had to steal it back through silent tears and noiseless trembling. She may be treated like glass, but she would sooner allow her glass self to shatter than for her voice to break the quiet.

For a stunned moment, she could do nothing but breathe. Her senses were overwhelmed with the firing of synapses being overrun by the tidal wave of nerves signalling danger. The world eventually reformed and she found that she'd ended up half on her back, her hips twisted awkwardly to the side and her knee digging into the edge of the path where the stone met the grass. Miraculously, her sunglasses remained on her face, even if they were slightly skewed.

After she was sure that her breath wouldn't once again escape her, Arielle blinked up to meet the startled expression of the woman that she'd run into. She didn't look to be a student and despite having been hit full force by the younger woman, she didn't appear to have a hair - the same copper color as Arielle's own - out of place. 

"Sorry." Her apology was still more air than intonation, and she hoped that the breathlessness wouldn't morph into a cough. Migraines and myalgia were enough on their own; throw in a coughing fit and her already sometimes overwhelming pain ramped up exponentially. 

The older woman didn't respond, though she did hold out a hand to assist the younger back to her feet. Standing was like entering an entirely new gravitational orbit. Her stomach lurched immediately and it took all she had not to sway with the momentum and fall back onto the women. She was unnerved by how the stranger appeared to be studying her, but even that worry was pushed to the back of her mind by the urgent need _not to throw up right now_.

"Sorry," Arielle apologized again, and the woman responded with a soft but very firm _indeed_. She had an accent, Arielle noticed - different from her own mild Welsh vowels; English, if she had to guess, but she would need to hear more to further evaluate. 

Not then though. All she wanted to do then was to hide under her covers and pray for death. She was saved from additional humiliation by the sound of a new but familiar voice ringing through the air.

"Pet!" Eliot waved at them from farther down the path, blocking her from her intended destination. She grit her teeth, realizing that she probably wasn't about to be saved so much a commandeered. He strode quickly toward the women, dark curls bouncing in his haste. "You are exactly the person I need right now," he declared.

She had half a mind to tell him that what she needed at the moment was to be left alone for just five minutes, please, dear gods, she just wanted to rest and get the entire episode over with. Before she could snap at him, she caught sight of the other person trailing behind his buoyant stride. Quentin appeared to be struggling with a cardboard box. It jerked randomly, causing him to stumble more than once on the way over. He noticed the two women around the same time, catching Arielle's eye before tripping once more (though, that looked to be more due to surprise than from restraining the box).

"Eliza?"

"Quentin," The woman, Eliza, greeted him. "You appear to be on quite the errand."

Okay, so the English woman knew the cute, nerdy guy who apparently knew Eliot. Arielle would need to take the time to think about this little plot development later. There were more important things to worry about at the moment, a sentiment that Eliot apparently agreed with because he completely ignoring the side dialogue happening nearby and zeroed in on Arielle.

"You," he said pointedly. "Are coming with us."

She didn't even have the energy to be upset, she just wanted to lay down. "Look," she tried to explain. "I'm really not in any shape right now to-"

"It's not negotiable," he cut her off, and that was the feather that tipped her back away from begrudging respect he’d previously garnered.

"Fine," he pulled back, flinching at the acid in her bit off word. Good. He was entitled, and obnoxious, and needed a reminder that he wasn't the king of campus just because he threw a good party. "But this'd better be quick, because I have more important things to do with my time than to coddle you."

He held both hand up in the air, level with his head. "An hour, two at most."

_Do not punch Eliot Waugh. Expulsion is not worth his stupid face._

"The sooner we get to it, the sooner we'll be done with it, right?"

He grinned, seeming fine to brush off her bad mood now that he was getting his way. "Excellent. Quentin!" Mr. Floppy Hair himself jumped, looking between Arielle, Eliot, and Eliza like he expected one of them to explode. Arielle was willing to bet that it would most likely be her, and felt a phantom repulsion at the idea of her brain matter staining Eliza's polished ensemble. "Chop chop, pretty boy, we're on a mission!"

After a stilted goodbye and another apology to Eliza, they were all on their way to some New York portal. She tried not to undermine his masculinity, even in her head, but Quentin trotting up to her and grinning like an actual puppy softened her mood just slightly by the sheer cuteness of it. Eliot, either not reading her mood or purposefully ignoring her annoyance at him, curled a hand around her elbow like he had at the party weeks before and marched them all off. 

She tried to ignore the eyes on the back of her head the entire way.

* * *

**_ JULIA _ **

"Why exactly am I following you through the muggle streets of New York?" Quentin glanced over approvingly at her use of the word muggle. It seemed that most magicians used Harry Potter terms ironically, but few actually appreciated the source material. If Arielle had to guess, she would have initially said he was a Hufflepuff, but something in the back of her mind pushed that he'd be better suited to Gryffindor. He stumbled again, apologizing when his shoulder jostled hers.

"It's it obvious?" Eliot drawled.

"No, we've literally spoken once, and it was so you could ply me with alcohol after you told me that I was sucking the life out of your party."

"I'm relatively certain that is not what I said."

Arielle exchanged a knowing look with Quentin. "Not in so many words, maybe." That made him smile. Just a quirk of the mouth, but a satisfying result nonetheless.

"He's said basically the same to me a few times. I understand you."

"Don't make me come back there," the man in question threw over his shoulder. He was probably the most at ease out of the three in their current setting. Walking down the noisy, smelly, bright city street was not her idea of a good time even when she wasn't fighting off her own body. Cramped buildings towered above them, and dark alleys beckoned with sinister, probably very unsanitary, shadows. Arielle didn't need her little quirk to tell her that they were being led into a particularly sketchy part of the city. Being outside of the Brakebills wards always seemed to suck the color out of the air, but the monochromatic skyline was particularly poignant around them at the moment. There was a chill in the air that she was grateful for - Brakebills had obnoxiously clear weather due to various charms, but the heat was much less appreciated when she was so physically on edge.

"Seriously, though. We're tracking down a lost book, and Quentin here has the buddy system angle down pat. If this was some excuse to drag someone else into your mess, then it is very much not appreciated."

"Isn't it obvious?" He asked again, shrugging like she was the strange one for not being able to read his mind. Well, maybe she was. "We're looking for a lost thing, you have the power to know shit. There's a clear path from A to B here, Pet."

She stopped in her tracks, her feet glued to the ground so suddenly that she nearly tipped forward. Quentin was the first to notice her fall back from the trio. He faltered, worry in his gaze when he comprehended the shock in her eyes. That shock quickly morphed to anger just as Eliot sensed that the other two were no longer behind him. That anger was the first thing he saw when he turned around to question their pace.

"Tell me you're joking," Arielle hissed. "Tell me that you're not seriously as willfully ignorant and selfish as you play at acting." His hackles raised, answering her more clearly than anything he could have said in his defense. 

"Is it really that surprising that I'd try to steal you away from those unappreciative assholes that you call roommates?" He was naive, she told herself. He didn't know and that's why his logic was flawed and callus. It still hurt, the idea that someone would - even unknowingly - that advantage of a power that was literally killing her.

"Eliot isn't really a fan of psychic students." Poor Quentin, equally as out of the loop and just trying to smooth over the sudden animosity in the air. He, at least, didn't make assumptions about things that he didn't bother to actually understand.

"I'm a psychic. That's my discipline," she had to bite back what felt like a growl. "And no one who knows literally anything about my particular talents would appreciate having or using them. I can't just pull a vision out of thin air anytime I want. I can't control anything about what I see. I can't-" her hands were stinging, she realized. She loosened her grip and knew the wounds on her palms would be crescent shaped. She wasn't going to cry over something so stupid. She wasn't. "I just can't." Deflated, aching, and way too emotional for her preference, she finished off her almost rant with, "can we just find the book? The sooner we do, the sooner I don't have to be around you anymore."

Quentin looked hurt, and even Eliot's eyes tightened at the corner, but neither of them argued with her request or pushed her for more information. It was as much of a relief as it was a stab in the heart.

Finding the location of the lost object was a quiet and largely anticlimactic affair after that. They'd all come to a stop in front of a pretty innocuous corner store, dreary as the gray stone building book-ending it. There wasn't anything that stuck out in particular about it, sans the small red star with a keyhole in the center that was painted on the window. 

"A Hedge safe house?" Arielle murmured, her surprise breaking the awkward silence.

"This bodega is warded up the ass." Eliot nodded in confirmation. "I once had a Hedge Witch offer to blow me for a spell," he added almost as if it were an afterthought. "It was fairly worth it." He slung his jacket over his shoulder, an image of casual ease if she'd ever seen one (and man, if that didn't just make her want to punch him in the face again, arrogant asshole). Eliot sauntered right on into the shop like he frequented the place. Quentin was a little less elegant in his entrance, sending a display crashing to the floor when the increasingly erratic box jerked him that direction. The shop attendant didn't appear to care either way and buzzed them into the back without fanfare. Arielle stepped over the spilled merchandise carefully, sending over an apologetic look because that man probably wasn't paid enough to have to deal with magic shenanigans but he did it anyway.

The buzz of cold, fluorescent lighting scraped at her eardrums, and she couldn't be certain but she felt like the flickering would have been nauseating even if she weren't already feeling gross. It was frankly the worst time for a visual aura to sneak up, but the spots in her vision floated on by anyway - a sure sign that her impending migraine was coming on much more quickly than it typically did after a vision. She reasoned that to be due to the increase frequency of episodes overall; she wasn't getting enough time to recover from one before the next was thrown onto the pile.

It sucked.

The back hall opened up into a surprisingly spacious room occupied by several people whom Arielle assumed were Hedges. They were quick to notice the out of place trio, and a blond man stood from his chair to intercept them before they could step further that a few feet into the space. He stared down at them from the few steps up where the majority of the others had started to stand as well. His glare was unimpressed, but hardly intimidating, and he opened his mouth to obviously ask what they were doing there when another voice cut him off before he could get to it. 

"Quentin?"

 _Pretty_ , was Arielle's first thought. The woman who stepped out from behind their, arguably less confused and more aggressive, welcoming party was pretty. There was a softness in the eyes that she focused on Quentin, ignoring Arielle and Eliot completely. 

"Oh," Quentin's answering murmur was more breath than anything else, and it didn't take a psychic to see that there was history between the two. "Hey."

The blond Hedge apparently lacked the ability to read the room, because he charged his way into the duo-syllabic conversation with, "You know these guys?" Arielle couldn't help but think of a petulant child in the the way that he stood with his hands on his hips like he needed full attention. She spared half a second of worry for his slacks when she saw that one of those hands was pressing a half eaten peach into the fabric. A petulant child with grubby hands to boot.

"We're friends," Quentin insisted, though the tension between him and the mysterious brunette woman made that seem more up for debate.

She ignored his claim. "They're Brakebills students"

That seemed to intrigue the blond. "You have friends at Brakebills?" The glint in his eye was calculating and he appraised the three intruders with a new intrigue. Great, a petulant child with grubby hands and manipulative inclinations. 

"We're not really..." She trailed off, but the implication of _friends_ was clear as day and the devastatingly pained look on Quentin's face broke Arielle's heart.

"Jules-"

Eliot had clearly reached the end of his patience because he cut off whatever Quentin was about to say with a huffed, "That's right. We're from Brakebills, we're classically trained, and we want our book."

The still unnamed Hedge scoffed, crossing his arms and staring back down his nose at them. "We don't have your stupid book," he said. It was kind of funny. Arielle's eyes flickered back to the half eaten peach each time he shifted, and something about how he stood there trying to intimidated them with a _peach_ in his hand made it come across as incredibly silly. 

Fruitless, one might say.

The box in Quentin's hand shook as if on cue, and Eliot raised a brow, daring them to argue with the evidence. 

"Look," Arielle spoke up for the first time since the stand off began, anything to get this over with. "I'm just going to apologize on his behalf, because you're never going to actually get one out of him." She nodded her head pointedly at Eliot, but she otherwise ignored her two companions because she knew that at least one of them would object to what she was about to offer. It didn’t take much effort to guess which one. "My peer here is kind of an ass, but I don't have the same prejudices against Hedge Witches that he does. Yes, we're from Brakebills and regardless of how this goes down, we will be taking that book back, but I can teach you a transcription spell in exchange. All we need is a notebook with at least as many pages as the one we’re looking and you'll get to keep all of what's in it plus a bonus that I'm sure will be very helpful down the line."

Eliot, as expected, was not on board with this plan. "You can't just trade spells with Hedges," he hissed. 

"Excuse me, but I'm pretty sure that not even ten minutes ago you confessed to trading a spell for a blowjob."

"Yeah, a fucking party trick, not something that they could abuse to-"

"We'll take the deal," Blond announced loudly, earning him a glare from Eliot. He ignored the other man, stepping down to the three and holding out a hand to Arielle to shake on it. "Pete," he introduced himself.

"I don't really care," she didn't return the greeting, her hands remaining at her side. "And I'll be teaching her," She tilted her head toward the woman, Jules. "You can go on ahead and grab that book for us. I suspect that you know exactly which one we're looking for." He seemed about to argue, but she was already brushing past him and up the steps. "Quentin, give Eliot the box. This is a cooperative spell and I'll need your hands to help."

Arielle wasn't one for clutter. Everything had a spot and there was a spot for everything. Furniture was always arranged meticulously for equal space to object ration, and she organized objects within that space in a way that was logical. Even on days when she could hardly move and things ended up piled rather than placed, each pile had a specific purpose. 

That is to say that the Hedges common area was a bit of a mess and she absolutely hated it. The three of them - Quentin, Julia (a pretty name for a pretty woman), and Arielle - worked quietly while the loose smattering of Hedges observed from around them. Eliot was sulking. Pete, after having returned with the book in question, was hovering. Arielle led the casting, showing her partners the proper tuts and correcting pronunciation of the Greek they needed to speak. She was limited in time before her migraine would hit, and while she knew that this point that she wouldn't make it to her dark and quiet room in time, she was looking to avoid going into an attack while surrounded by strangers in a sketchy hideout. It was quiet work for the most part and after a final practice run through, the transcription went off without a hitch. The original and the copy laid open on the round table between the three before Pete snatched up the notebook and flipped through it to verify it's contents.

Arielle stood to leave, and Quentin seemed primed to follow.

"So that's it?" Julia hissed, staring directly at him. They didn't speak during the spell beyond the scope of what was instructed of them, but she clearly had more on her mind. "You're not even going to say anything to me?"

Quentin, for his part, looked more exhausted than anything. He ran a hand through his hair, yanking at the ends in a familiar gesture of frustration. "I don't even know what you're doing here, Jules. You're better than this." His voice was low, aware of the others around them overhearing the exchange. The only reason Arielle was about to make it out was because they were all still gathered around the table, albeit standing instead of sitting.

"You say that like I had a choice," Julia leaned into his space, aggressive and angry.

"Of course you have a choice!"

"Quentin." Arielle placed a cautioning hand over his. This was more than she expected, and there was more damage between the two than she'd initially guessed; what ever was happening between them, whatever they were about to say would come from a place of hurt, and that was dangerous. It was just going deepen the wound.

"No," Julia hissed. "because guess what? Magic wasn't just handed to me. I told you to tell them about me. At first, you know, I thought maybe they'd actually test me again, and then I figured someone would at least come and try to take my memories again, and then-" Ste stopped in her tracks, her gaze searching - accusing. "Just waiting. It took me weeks to realize you never even told them about me at all."

By that point, Eliot was pushing his way over, probably to ask why they weren't on their way out the door yet. Julia didn't bother with trying to avoid being overheard like Quentin had. The other Hedges were pointedly looking in any direction but theirs, pretending that they weren't obviously listening in. 

If she considered it too deeply, Arielle was certain that she would take the Julia's side. She didn't subscribe to the idea that magic should be limited to those who could pass a test. On the surface level, some people just weren't good test takers. On a deeper one, people were being forced to resort to taking anything that they could get, now knowing or caring what was safe and tested, because they had no other option. They didn't know was was dangerous and no one seemed willing to tell them. When something went wrong and someone got hurt they were chastised by the classically trained and used as an example of why they shouldn't have magic rather than the dangers of withholding education on it. They were punished for not cutting off an intrinsic part of themselves, but she would like to see the majority of Brakebills students try to just not do magic for no other reason than they were told not to. There was a reason that their memories were erased, because they couldn't and they wouldn't stop if they had the option to know more.

Arielle blinked, realizing that she had unconsciously placed her hand over Julia's. She didn't have any time to consider the implications of that before she was hit by a train. 

She sucked in a sharp breath, her hands pulling back to cup her head. She had enough experience with the throbbing pain to recognize that it'd never come on so fast or suddenly before. There was no shift, no mild ache preparing her for the transition. It was zero to sixty. The shock of if stunned her more than the actual pain - normally she could function through that long enough to find a place to recover.

She was leaning pretty heavily on Quentin, she realized, unsure when exactly that happened. Someone was yelling angrily, asking what the others did to her.

"It's fine," she croaked. Her own voice was painful to her eardrums, but the yelling was worse and she needed it to stop. "They didn't- It's fine. I just need to lay down. We have what we need, let's just go back, okay?" The buzzing lights burned through her squinting eyes and ringing ears. 

* * *

**_ KADY & ALICE _ **

Arielle didn't remember too much about the journey back to campus. Most of it was listening to Quentin worry and cursing every sight, sound, and smell that New York had the audacity to throw at her. Screw the city. Neither of the boys inquired too deeply, focused more on getting them back to Brakebills. The portal that connected to campus dropped them close to the Physical Cottage, and she really didn't have the energy to make it back to her room across the grounds. It wasn't much of a surprise to find herself curled up against a very familiar pillow on a very familiar couch. 

Academically speaking, it was kind of fascinating that she could be so hyper aware of everything while simultaneously covered in a thick mental haze that made actually processing that awareness impossible. There was a quiet murmur of voices, just soft enough to feel like poking a bruise instead of stabbing with an ice pick. She could hear the soft syllables settling over her but couldn't tell what was actually being said. She’d been so focused so on remaining functioning long enough to make it to the safety of the wards without throwing up on the side of the street every time some honked a horn (which was a lot) that as soon as she let herself relax even a modicum she slipped completely into a half conscious state of pain and little else. An object at rest tends to stay at rest and all that.

Someone touched her shoulder at one point and she flinched into the cushions hard enough that another wave of nausea his her. In the part of her mind not absolutely dedicated to not dying, she was definitely embarrassed. She wasn't someone who felt the need hide any weakness, but she was also curled up in the middle of a public living space trying not to vomit on a pair of throw pillows. Things just didn't normally get that bad. Not that they weren't bad at all. They absolutely were awful, but this was like a migraine invited a cluster and tension headache over for a particularly vigorous threesome that was then crashed by a sinus headache for good measure.

Ugh, the imagery there was something that she could have lived without. Of course the only coherent thoughts she has are about weird brain sex.

"Arielle?" A soft voice coaxed her attention away from her disjointed mind. Quentin, she was sure. "Ari? What can we do?" Gods, she really hoped that by _we_ he meant just him and Eliot. She had enough of an audience with the Hedges, she didn't want to throw in people that she might actually run into in class.

"Ice?" Margo said that they kept around ice packs just in case, right?

"Yeah, I can go grab some." She heard him shuffle away, and the quiet was vast in his absence. The sound of Eliot pacing was hardly a blip on her radar, only making the surprise ring of metal on metal hit that much sharper. The harsh light behind her eyes dimmed, and she realized that he was pulling the living room curtains shut. Not black out curtains, she remembered, but a nice thought all the same. The click of lamps accompanied the increasing dimming. Despite her annoyance at him, Arielle was grateful. It wasn't as dark as she typically kept it in her own space, but it was better.

Quentin's return was without fanfare; he whispered an apology and passed off the ice pack into her shaky grip. He might have made a sound of protest when she pressed the deliciously frosted gel encasement directly against the skin at the base of her skull, but the relief was so, so worth any potential frost bite. They were magicians, so what did it matter, really? Ideally, she would sandwich another pack over her eyes and numbing her entire head, but beggars couldn't be choosers and all that. It was strange to be taken care of. Her roommates coddled her on a day to day basis, but didn't really try to assist when she was having an episode so much as they just made vaguely sympathetic sounds. This though? She was offered what she needed without judgement, even though she'd spent the last hour or so not being very pleasant to the people who were now offering.

The soft murmurs continued, interspersed with soothing silence. Someone put a blanket over her, and at one point she was coaxed to release the firm throw pillow that she clutched to have it replaced by one softer and more gentle against her aching skull. 

Arielle was quiet in her pain, finding it difficult to formulate coherent thoughts when she was being bombarded by sensation. There was no release in crying, and most sounds simply rattled her head and tightened her muscles. No, Arielle was much more likely to focus on breathing softly, sometime not at all when the wave cresting over her was particularly rough. Someone she loved once joked that they had to double check that she wasn't dead, because how else could she be so silent?

"What's going on?" A high, feminine voice broke through the whispers, and Arielle flinched at the volume.

"Quiet, Alice," Quentin admonished. "Arielle has a headache."

"A migraine," Eliot corrected softly, and she was surprised that he could tell. Most people didn't care enough to know the difference. "What? Margo gets them, so I'm not unfamiliar with the symptoms."

"Who's Arielle?" the girl, Alice, asked.

"Oh, she's uh-"

"My new pet," Eliot joked, and it was almost admirable how he could quickly define a relationship with someone in a way that was clearly a joke but also invited no further inquiry.

"Oh, is she a physical student? I haven't seen her around the house before."

"You two have only been here like a week, of course you haven't met everyone yet." A pause. "But no, she'd a psychic who somehow keeps ending up on our couch."

"That actually explains a lot then.” Arielle could see the firm nod the other woman gave in her minds eye, and she risked squinting her eyes open, curiosity ticking now that the numbing in the back of her skull made existence bearable. "She must've overworked herself. Psychic headaches are not unheard of - their magic naturally strengthens their mind to compensate for the mental strain of their abilities." The blonde clearly knew her stuff, her spine as stick straight as her hair while continuing her academic explanation. "They should be taken very seriously though, it's like an engine running without oil. Sure it will still work technically, but the damage can be permanent if it's left that way. If it's this bad, you should probably take her to infirmary. God knows why she didn't go herself when she felt it coming on."

"Well, she wh-" Quentin paused a moment, his face scrunching as he tried to better arrange his thoughts. "She seemed mostly fine, I think? Until she had one of her episode things with Jules." His eye flicked between their faces. "She was fine and then she could hardly even stand anymore."

"So she caught an errant thought and it caused her to crash this bad that fast? That hardly seems likely, Quentin."

"No," Eliot shoot his head. "She's Clairvoyant, it's her-"

"She's Clairvoyant?" Alice's voice raised in pitch again, making Arielle press a hand to her ear. "That still doesn't make any sense though. Clairvoyants have hours between having a vision and when the after affect kick in."

"After affects, as in?"

Alice rolled her eyes. "The migraine you mentioned. Most psychics can avoid headaches if they're careful, but seeing the future is a little bit different and requires a whole lot more magic. There's not a lot of research on it because there frankly aren't many test subjects available, but the running theory is that it's like a power socket being overloaded for a moment and then overheating after the fact."

Silence reigned again as the two men pondered what Alice had revealed to them, pondered the information that Arielle had purposefully withheld. Eliot was the first to break the quiet, his voice so soft that Arielle could hardly make out the words, even though she was focusing on them.

"I didn't know that happened. I wouldn't have- fuck, I'm not that much of an asshole," he huffed. "What if she was already fighting off the effects of another vision? She was kind of an off-putting pissant today, but she's always been a bit prickly in my experience so I didn't think anything of it."

"She seemed nice to me," Quentin grumbled, and yeah, that was definitely true. Quentin and Eliot brought out very different sides of her personality

"It's impossible," Alice dismissed with a wave of her hand. "They go months between visions."

"No." Quentin drew out of his thoughts and ran a hand through his hair. Arielle didn't miss how Eliot's eyes followed the motion. Interesting. "She had one when I met her, like, four days ago. She said-" His eyes widened. "Fuck, Alice, she said that the Beast was from Fillory. That's what everyone is calling that thing from class. I didn't even- That thing is from Fillory?!"

Arielle barely remembered hearing about that, the class of first year's who were attacked by some interdimensional monster. It climbed out of a mirror and murdered their instructor in front of them only few days ago. She’d been still stuck in bed and half out of it at the time. She didn't realize before that it was Quentin's class that was attacked.

"There are two others that I know of," Eliot added. "One with me, and one with Margo."

"Did she say anything more about the Beast?"

He flushed? Seeing Eliot Waugh with pink on his cheeks was confusing, kind of beautiful, and very indicative of the entire conversation that she was witnessing being part of a very thorough fever dream. He shook his head in the negative, and again she wondered what exactly she said to him during that first meeting that made him just so flustered. 

"So that's, what, at least four in the last couple months?" Alice asked.

Quentin was the one who nodded. "That we know of."

"That's-" her brow furrowed behind the rims of her glasses. "That's dangerously frequent. I've never heard or reach anything like that being possible. We need to get her to Lipson right now." Her gaze slipped across the room to rest on Arielle's face for the first time since she'd opened her eyes. It was still semi dark, but Arielle could tell the moment that she realized the redhead was staring back and had been listening in the entire conversation.

Arielle blinked, opening her mouth to say something, anything, when her head split in two. Any help from the ice pack was nullified by the absolute agony of having an pick rammed into each of her eye sockets and pieces of her skull chipped away. Her entire body was vibrating, trying to contain and process each sensation, and it wasn't until she felt someone's hands grab her own that she realized how hard she was pulling her own hair, or that she'd even been pulling it at all. Every twitch turned into a gasp of pain, and she could feel the saliva building up in her mouth in horrific anticipation. Whether she said something or somebody just knew - she couldn't be sure - a bucket was there just in time to catch the meager contents of her mostly empty stomach. She was sitting up now, being supported by sturdy arms while someone else held her hair back as she continued to heave. There was nothing left left to expel, but the muscles in her abdomen continued to clench as if they could force the rest of the pain away by just trying hard enough.

She became vaguely aware of a banging echoing somewhere followed by an explosive crack. She managed to look up just in time to see a curly haired woman stomp in through the front door that had been blasted open.

Arielle cringed, blinking once more before the pain became too much and she fell into sweet, sweet oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ten points if you figure out how I (very obviously, I feel) signal that Arielle has had a vision without spelling it out.
> 
> Also, if you don't care about spoilers, please for the love of Our Lady Underground shoot me a message because I have a lot of narrative ideas for this fic and only one of my IRL friends are into the show, but even she isn't caught up and I don't wanna spoil things for her.


	2. Mind is a Prison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arielle's brain didn’t actually explode. Weird mind stuff is still going on. Eliza, please stop being so suspicious. Arielle is confused by, like, everything and should stop thinking so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Mind Is A Prison" by Alec Benjamin
> 
> So, apparently I'm working through some personal stuff with this fic, because BE WARNED that it's gonna get dark in some spots. Not in this chapter specifically, but like, eventually. I've also got some really hilarious fluffy scenes that I'm super excited to write out, and it's been a fun challenge to try and create that balance of severity and humor that the show does. The plans I have for changing up the timeline are *chefs kiss* beautiful, and I can't wait to share what's in store.
> 
> Side note that I'm a nerd who bought a physical copy of the book trilogy even though I already owned it on Kindle, and also If you haven't read Codex, DO IT.

People talk about the smell of a hospital like it was some hugely culturally recognizable experience. Just the idea of it was supposed to conjure up a sense memory that anyone could relate to. Clinical prose were written about chemical sterility, as if a scent free institution would allow for harsh smelling cleaners in patient occupied spaces. This was particularly true for magic operated areas of healing, where chemicals weren't needed to sanitize things. Frankly, Arielle thought that the whole focus on smell was completely overblown. 

The sounds of a hospital? Those were distinctive. The beep of heart monitors aside, something about the shuffling of soft shelled shoes on linoleum was a dead giveaway. Layer on carts and chairs being wheeled around, nurses chattering, and more often than you would think the soft sound of someone crying in the distance? It was a symphony recognizable by the third bar. Sound is what clued Arielle in to where she was as she began to wake up.

Her mouth was unbearably dry, and her muscles were stiff. They didn't hurt beyond a mild aching stretch when she tried shift, which was surprising. Come to think of it, the cacophony of sounds didn't dig into her eardrums quite the same either, and the light warming her eyelids was merely uncomfortable rather than sending her down the dizzying hole of nausea that she was getting used to. Still, I t took her several tried to keep her eyes open against the sun shining through the curtained window off to her right. She wasn't lightheaded, but something about her did feel _light_. She examined the sensation, cataloging how each muscle moved to help her sit, pulling against the white sheets that covered her gown-clad chest. There was still stiffness and the burn of it being stretched, but other than that?

No pain.

Her head was clear, and she wasn't suffering from the disorientation that she would have expected of waking up from apparent unconsciousness. Not that she’d ever been straight up unconscious before. She remembered quite clearly what happened at the cottage, all things considered, so it wasn't actually much of a shock to find herself in the infirmary. It felt like she'd only closed her eyes for a few minutes, but the high angle of the sun seemed to indicate that she'd been there at least overnight. Her room was empty and it didn't look like she was on much more than a saline drip, which was a relief.

Still, an uncomfortable knot of anticipation coiled in her stomach. She was confident that she was and would continue to be taken care of, but she wasn't ignorant of how she hadn't really been taking care of herself leading up to whatever this was. Sure, she tried to rest and address the symptoms, but she highly suspected that she was in for a lecture on how she should have come by much sooner.

Passive curiosity made her wonder about the logistics of how she’d transported from the cottage to the infirmary. Did they call a faculty member? Levitate her across campus? Maybe a portal? She didn't know if students could throw up portals to get from one place to another even within the grounds, though that would certainly make getting to class on time a much easier endeavor. Either way, here she was.

Gods, it was kind of embarrassing to think about.

The window that took up nearly the entire outer wall gave her a pleasant view of other students going about their day. The infirmary was nestled next to southeastern edge of campus, appropriately just around the corner from the Welters Stadium. The windows were of course charmed to protect the privacy of patients and didn't allow for those outside the building to be able to peer in, but most of them faced the expanse of trees that wrapped around the Brakebills borders. The set-up was overall open and less claustrophobic than she imagined infirmaries at non-magical universities might be. Did non magical universities even have infirmaries?

Arielle didn't know if she was allowed to get up, and she didn't particularly want to end up staying longer than needed despite the pleasant set-up. She shifted over to find the button that would notify a healing student that she was awake only to find that she couldn't locate one. The door clicked open while she was distracted with her search, causing her to jump in surprise when she saw the movement out of the corner of her eye.

She expected a fellow student on their rounds, but it was Professor Lipson herself who strode into the room. She didn't seem all that surprised to find Arielle awake, so perhaps the notification system was magical in nature. Lipson wasted no time checking her over with both magical and muggle instruments, shushing Arielle the few times she opened her mouth to ask a question or make a comment. Once the woman was satisfied that her patient wasn't about to keel over, she dragged a stool to the end of the bed and sat heavily on it.

"What the hell were you thinking?" The derision in her voice would have been surprising if not for the fact that it wasn't a common tone from most of the faculty. Lipson in particular spoke to everyone like they were all a bit stupid and she couldn't believe she had to sit through a conversation with them.

Arielle was hesitant to answer, knowing that regardless she would be wrong. "I wasn't?" she hedged.

"Damn straight you weren't." She seemed more exasperated than angry, which Arielle supposed could be worse. "The students who brought you in said that you've had at least six instances of clairvoyance since the start of the semester, is this correct?"

She wasn't sure how to answer, she distinctly remembered that blonde girl, Alice, saying four. She'd meant to correct her before she couldn't because of her dramatic brain implosion. "I think-" Arielle chewed lightly on the meat of her cheek, considering this. “It depends on who those six people were, I guess."

The doctor pursed her lips, and Arielle was impressed when she began listing off the names without needing to consult any note or chart. "Mr. Waugh, Miss Hanson, Mr. Coldwater, a friend of his named Miss Wicker, Miss Quinn, and Miss Orloff-Diaz." Arielle guessed Miss Wicker to be Quentin's Hedge Witch friend, Julia, but she didn't recognize the last two names at all.

"Is one of those Alice?" Lipson nodded. "Um, there's one other that I'm aware of, this- well, he's not a psychic, but kind of? His name is Penny. People don't always tell me when it happens though, so there could be others that I don't know about."

Lipson rubbed her thumb against her temple, disturbing the polished curls that framed that side of her face. "This is going to seem like a stupidly obvious question, but I am honestly at such a loss as to the possible answer: why the hell didn't you come by the infirmary sooner?"

As she probably expected, Arielle didn't actually have a good answer for that. The simple fact is that she _should_ have, she just didn't. She was going to, she really was, she just didn't realize how quickly her situation was going to go downhill.

"To be fair," she sighed, leaning back against the unsupportive pillows layered behind her. "The majority of those happened in the span of less than twenty four hours." She didn't appear at all sympathetic. "I couldn't tell you. I probably would have come by soon, but it wasn't _bad_ bad until yesterday went sideways."

"Yesterday." The doctor leaned forward, her elbows digging into her knees and her chin resting on her knuckle of her ring finger. Her eyes bore into Arielle's, gauging the younger woman with some unknown method of measurement. They had a quiet moment before she continued, but when she did it tore a pit through the bottom of Arielle's stomach. "You were brought into the infirmary a little over a week ago. You had several seizures and were only stable enough to lift the sedation charm yesterday. Whatever state you thought you were in, I can assure that it was ten times worse."

If there was still air in her lungs then she couldn't feel it. She wasn't going to panic, at least not until later when she was alone, but the tightening in her chest amplified the thumping of her heart in her ears. She really, _really_ messed up and should probably be grateful to even be alive. 

"I feel fine right now." She didn't. It was a half-assed argument at best. Even if she did feel fine, the damage was already done, who knows how many years she let get knocked off her life just waiting around for things to get better.

Lipson nodded her head, misunderstanding. "That would be the morphine. You're lucky that we have accounts of Magicians experiences with opium dens, and the completely accidental discovery of opium's affect with clairvoyants specifically. Not much specific research obviously, but enough information from several journals to justify a prescription for pain management."

"Are you telling me that I could've just done heroine this entire time instead of dealing with demon headaches?"

That actually drew a smile out of the woman, as tiny and severe as it was. "No, I have an actual non-magical medical degree from before I was a magician, so I don't follow the whole _everybody self-medicates_ ideology that Henry touts. We couldn't start the morphine until we were sure that the seizures stopped, but I'd much prefer moving forward with a prescribed and regulated approach from now on."

That was a relief, knowing that even if the frequency was still elevated that there was something to better address the symptoms. She'd at least be functional until they could figure out the cause. Or until she just died. Whichever came first.

"These aren't going to stop your visions," the older woman reiterated more clearly. "The only way to do that is one hundred percent isolation. I, frankly, have no clue what could be causing your anomaly, and the best we can do right now is manage and monitor it. I've already spoke with your professors, and your courses can be completed remotely. I'm going to write you a morphine prescription, but with your unusual circumstances I feel it is very important to emphasize that you should only take a dose as soon as you know For sure that a vision has occurred, but no more than one dose a day. This medication is slow release and preventative, but it's also a highly habit forming substance. I will not make another addict on a campus full of people who pop pills like candy." Arielle nodded her understanding, itching to escape the increasingly confining space. "Good, next time at least come in for an annual, or something. We could have gotten you started on this much sooner if you'd have come by the infirmary for literally any other reason. Your discipline being what it is, it would have been an automatic prescription." She gave an exaggerated sigh, pushing her hands against her knees as leverage to stand and exiting before Arielle could ask what she meant.

She knew for a fact that she'd come by the infirmary at least a few times in her first year. It wouldn't make sense that she hadn't; they were literally at a University for magic and accidents of all degrees were an everyday occurrence. There was a wrongness somewhere in there. She was just told that she had never come by, but she knew that she had. It was entirely possible that it was some sort of side effect of her visions being out of wack - maybe it was future visits she was so certain about, bleeding through because her powers were on overdrive. She wouldn't worry at it too much, at least for now when doing so might extend her stay.

She had woken up feeling so good, and now she felt like she may be a bit sick to her stomach. Like the Professor said, the only thing they could do was observe and manage. Arielle probably (definitely) needed to spend less time around people, which itself wasn't an issue, but now she worried that the times she did interact would be full of anxiety. She wasn't an anxious person by nature, despite what her semester thus far might imply. Being so high key all the time was exhausting and she battled enough fatigue as it was already.

Getting discharged was a surprisingly easy process. She didn't see Lipson again, though that wasn't a shock considering how many metaphorical hats the woman wore. The healing students gave her the lowdown on what side effects to expect from her new regimen. The morphine wasn't meant to cure her symptoms, just head off the worst of them. She would still be stiff and sore between episodes, but she wouldn't (shouldn't, at least) collapse like she had from the pain again. The seizures were reflexive of that so they shouldn't reoccur, but if they did then she was instructed to immediately stop the pills and return to the infirmary "in a timely manner".

After what felt like another lecture from people with a lot less authority to give her one, she was free to make her way back to her housing. The walk was mostly pleasant, a delicate balance of enjoying the sun and avoiding as many other students as possible - so, nothing new there.

It felt strange stepping into the Consciousness Building after her eventful morning. Logically she knew that it'd only been a week (even if it still felt like a day) but she expected it to look different upon her return. Her housemates were picky about the arrangement of their living spaces - as picky as her, if not more. Occasionally all of the commons spaces were completely rearranged to better match the _auras_ of their occupants. It looked like the urge hadn't hit anyone while she'd been indisposed. 

The housing section of the Consciousness Building always managed to be the perfect amount of warm, with the sun streaming though it's windows Every daylight hour and lighting the dust motes floating in the air. Most every surface was a carved wood, and Arielle liked to draw her hands across each texture as she passed. It was an environment that might be equally as fitting for the Naturalists but was specifically designed to interfere as little as possible with mental wavelengths and psychic connections. The residents of the building jokingly called it "The Cabin" in reference to the many names adopted by the other housing facilities on campus - The Physical Cottage, The Tree House, The Illusionist Castle, and so many more.

On a bad day, trudging up to her second floor room was a herculean effort, but she felt mostly fine as she trailed her hands up the banister. It wasn't home, per say, but it was familiar and comforting. Very few people lived on the second floor, which was mostly used as a meditative space. She typically had to climb across three or four people just to get to the back hall lined with bedroom doors, but it was blessedly quiet once evening hit and they all retreated back to their own rooms. So focused on weaving her way around her housemates, Arielle just barely avoided stumbling into the woman making her way out from the back hall.

Avoiding the collision was a near miss for both women, Arielle rocking to the side and bumping into the wall with lost balance. She apologized, flustered.

"Hey, you're that psychic chick who freaked out at the cottage the other day."

Arielle, surprised, jerked her head up to stare and realized that the riot of curls was vaguely familiar. "Didn't you- you blew up the front door." She shrugged, and if Arielle didn't know any better she would say that the other woman looked smug - she had the right, it was very powerful magic.

"No one was letting me in. I was pissed. I didn't realize we were dealing with a situation."

"Yeah, I feel like I should apologize for that?" They both laughed quietly at her questioning tone, and she was relieved that she could joke about it with someone. "I know that is wasn't, like, my fault per say, but I just sat through Professor Lipson lecturing me on how it was kind of my fault."

The other woman scoffed, tucking a strand of of dark hair behind her ear and leaning on the opposite wall casually. "Lipson can go shove her-"

"Kady? You're still here?" Arielle recognized that grumpy voice and turned her head to find Penny poking his out of the bedroom across the hall from her own. 

"I didn't realize that you were so eager to get rid of me." Kady's teasing expression quickly morphed into something heated and flirty. She pushed off the wall, cat-like as she sauntered over to pull the man into a kiss. Arielle averted her eyes, but found herself impressed that Kady'd somehow managed to further tousle Penny's already disheveled hair when she glanced back at the pair.

His face was dazed but not at all displeased when she pulled away, and the moment felt intimate enough that Arielle was half tempted to pad away and come back to her room later so as not to interrupt. He caught her eye before she could escape, raising an brow as if to ask her what the hell she was staring at. She mimicked the movement, silently communicating that he was the one who interrupted her conversation. 

"Sup, red?"

"Oh, please," she sighed, but the amused glint in his eye held back any genuine irritation. "Please tell me that we're not going with a generic, hair color nickname. It's like if I just called you 'brown'."

His face twitched. "Yeah, except that's fucking racist, asshole."

"Don't be a dick, you know exactly what I mean, Penny."

Kady glanced between them. "You two know each other?" The disbelief appeared to outweigh any jealousy, but it wasn't like they didn't apparently live together now. Granted, this development occurred while Arielle was still unconscious and she wasn't sure how wide the spread of gossip was on the topic. Maybe them not having met wasn't that far fetched of an idea.

Penny didn't seem to care either way, instead pulling Kady closer. "She's the chick from the library," he explained. That caught the other woman’s attention, understanding light up her pretty, pale blue eyes.

"I told you that you'd end up in the Cabin," Arielle teased.

He shrugged. "Turned out that I'm a Traveler or some shit, so..."

"Fools Gold."

"Exactly," His face softened, though he tried to hide it behind his nonchalant demeanor. Well, as nonchalant as he could possible be while trying not to make goo-goo eyes at the beautiful woman in his arms. "They still categorize it under psychic, so here I am just trying to keep all of that mind sex out of my head."

Arielle scoffed, folding her arms over he chest. "That's like categorizing a werewolf as a vampire just because they both have sharp teeth."

"Ugh," Kady groaned, throwing her head back in apparent agreement. "This place is all about shoving people into neat little Hogwarts Houses. it drives me absolutely insane."

"Right?" Any discomfort that might've existed between the three dissipated as the camaraderie of mutual dissatisfaction drew out three knowing smiles. 

"Well," Arielle sighed before the silence that followed could turn awkward. "I'm actually on my way to self imposed isolation to keep my brain from exploding, so-" She shrugged. "I'll see you both around, I guess?"

Penny nodded, and Kady detangled herself from his arms with a chaste kiss because she did actually have somewhere that she needed to be, probably class. They all went their separate ways, Arielle stepping into her room and closing the door quietly. With one hand still on the metal handle and the other pressed against the frame, she let her head fall softly onto the wood and released a calming breathe. 

The conversation itself was pretty innocuous, all things considered, but it'd drained her more than she expected. She'd been on edge the entire time, worried about whether standing around would trigger a vision or not. It was like getting behind the wheel for the first time after a car crash; she knew that she'd get used to it in time, but all she could focus on in the moment was the possibility of it happening again.

Gods, did she accidentally traumatize herself? That would be exactly what she needed to survive the semester.

Layered on top of that discomfort was the knowledge that both of the other participants had witnessed and unwittingly contributed to her downward spiral - it wasn't hard to deduce that Kady was the unknown name at the end of Lipson's list. She knew that it wasn't their fault, she _knew_ that. She was just having a hard time connecting that logical reasoning to her gut emotional response; the response that was screaming _they hurt me, get away now before it can happen again._

Kady seemed nice though, a bit like Penny in that the gruff exterior shined as something genuine rather than something she hid behind. Seeing the two together was actually kind of delightful. Arielle wondered how long they'd been together and if they knew each other before Brakebills. The ease of which they interacted spoke of years in each other’s orbit rather than weeks. There was passion, obviously, but there was also trust.

She shook herself out the that train of thought, clearly over-analyzing what couldn't have been more than five minutes of conversation. She firmly believed that love was something that took time to earn, but she also enjoyed seeing it blossom in others. Balancing her pragmatic beliefs with her romantic tendencies was always an effort, and it wouldn't do to get caught up in something so silly when there were more serious issued to worry about. 

Pushing away from the door, she stretched her hands up and felt the pull in her lower back as she slowly brought them behind her head. Her normal aches hadn't yet returned, the discharge staff told her that she'd have a few hours before the medication that she'd been on would wear off and while the lack of pain was welcome, it was still strange after so long of having it as a constant companion. The stiffness made it less jarring, but she wondered if getting used to it would make her tolerance level decrease.

That was a problem for future Arielle, and she flopped into bed face first instead of dwelling on it. Her comforter smelled like the generic fresh linen of the cleaning charm she'd used the last time she managed to pull herself out of her little nest. It dug into her rib cage where it was bunched up because she hadn't bothered to actually make her bed that day. The familiarity was, again, quite comforting. She didn't have much in the way of knick-knacks or bobbles - her living space was more utilitarian than anything. She was at Brakebills to learn, she told herself, but it made her miss the comfort of her actual home. Maybe she would get a plant or something to make the space more cozy.

She was going to be spending a lot more time in here, she realized. The lack of homeliness hadn't bothered her before because the only extended amount of time she spent here was to sleep or wallow in her agony. She spent most of her time alone, sure, but even that was largely done outdoors. Maybe she could go find a nice secluded spot in the forest. With her luck, all of the good locations would already be scoped out, but there had to be somewhere.

She flipped onto her back, shimmying up so that the top of her head pressed against the wall. Her legs still hung off the side of the mattress at a semi awkward angle. She would need to contact her instructors to get the assignments that she'd missed on top of the work she was still catching up on. She knew she wasn't the first student to have to do distance courses, so they likely already had a system in place for exactly that.

Really, all that she wanted to do was find a nice sunny spot to lay out in, maybe a book to read. She and Quentin hadn't gotten around to setting up a Fillory date, but she was reluctant to find other books to read on her own time because she'd actually been looking forward to spending time with the nerdy first year.

Gods, the entire situation sucked the life out of her - both literally and figuratively.

She wondered what Quentin, Eliot, and even Alice now were up to. Kady seemed to probably be a physical student, and she wondered if the curly-haired woman would tell them that she was out of the infirmary. Were they worried? Quentin probably would be, Alice was someone who she hadn't actually spoken to, but she seemed like she would at least be curious, and Eliot was honestly a wild card. He probably felt guilty that he asked her to use her powers for him, but he was probably also annoyed that she didn't actually tell him anything about said powers before getting angry at him for asking. She played right into the cliche of a woman getting mad at a man and then expecting him to figure out what he did with zero hint as to what it was. Definitely a bitch move, and she should apologize at some point for it.

If only he wasn't so irritating, that would make things easier.

There wasn't much to do outside of pondering and planning, so Arielle pulled the section of blanket not stuck underneath her ass over her body and just let her mind wander until eventually she closed her eyes and dozed off into a fitful nap.

In retrospect, it should have come as no surprise that the Dean summoned her to his office two days later.

It _was_ kind of surprising that she was left completely alone in said office for quite a while before he actually showed. The feelings that sitting and waiting generated were along the lines what she imagined a criminal might experience waiting in an interrogation room for the detective to arrive. She was certain that the Dean has wards upon wards layering every nook and cranny - could almost feel them pressing against her skin - but it was still strange to be left to her own devices in a room probably full of a crazy amount of confidential information. 

Not that she was planning on doing any poking around, she mostly just shifted awkwardly hoping that she wasn't about to get expelled. It didn't make sense that she would be; Professor Lipson had gone to all that trouble to get her accommodations set up, and it wasn't like they could just wipe her memory and send her away. Her iron wards aside, Clairvoyance was like Traveling, a mutation in a gene that's turned her brain into a radio receiver so long as there was magic to send her the signal. She would continue having visions whether she knew about magic or not, and then probably end up in a psych ward or being dissected. 

She pulled in a shallow breath through her mouth and then released it through her nose, resting her elbow on the arm of her cushioned chair and her cheek against her knuckles. Sure, she was anxious about why the Dean wanted to speak with her specifically, but waiting around was also so very incredibly boring. She resisted the urge to twist around and check the clock on the wall again - last time she looked it was ten mites past the time her requested her - and instead she attempted to count the number of books lining the wall of shelves behind his desk. She was on book number forty, something starting with the letter B, when the door finally swung open behind her.

Henry Fogg had an intriguing gait; of everything about him that was what always struck her when she caught sight of the man. It was distinctive and always evident regardless of the speed in which he moved. The closest fitting word Arielle could think of to describe it was _ambling_ , but even that was just slightly off. Perhaps it was the stiffness in his knees, but he walked as though he couldn't care to be where he was going and would rather be anywhere than where he was. If an eye roll was a walk, it would have been his.

His gait may have been distinctive, but his steps were still light as he made his way from the threshold to his chair. He sat heavily with a huff of what sounded like annoyance, which, _rude_. He was the one who requested the meeting. If anything, she should be the one annoyed. She still had class work to catch up on and he was wasting her time by being late.

He shuffled a few miscellaneous pieces of paper and then set them aside, clasping his hands together and pulling her into severe eye contact. His gaze was searching, looking for some sort of confirmation aligning with whatever thoughts wrinkled his brow. She shifted uncomfortably and hoped that whatever it was he saw wasn't too damaging.

"Um, is this about the infirmary?" She asked, glancing away and back.

"No." His voice was much deeper than she expected, and she realized that it was the first time she'd ever heard him speak. No, that wasn't quite right. She knew that he personally proctored the entrance exam and was also on the board of interviewers during the individual evaluations. Still, it caught her by surprise. He looked like he'd have a deep voice, but nothing near the timbre of what came out.

"No?" She parroted.

"No," he repeated, folding his hands down onto his desk and relaxing back into his chair. "I've invited you here simply to check in, to ask how you are enjoying your time on campus."

Sounds fake, but okay.

"I-" She wasn't sure how to answer, not expecting that to be the angle he would take. Neither of them were stupid, and she knew that there was some other purpose here. He was digging for something but she didn't know what. He didn't seem inclined to give her any clue, so her only option was to warily play along. "I wouldn't go so far as to use the word 'enjoy', I guess." She smiled wryly. "I mean, even if it's magic this is still grad school."

He didn't acknowledge her attempt at humor. "And your classes? Are your courses to your liking?" 

She was becoming more and more uncomfortable with the forced casual inquiry. She'd almost prefer that he actually just interrogate her. If the goal was to get answers by tricking her into relaxing, he was very much failing. She'd never been relaxed more than an hour at a time in her entire life.

"Are you looking for an honest answer?” she asked tentatively. "Or are you just making conversation?"

His eyebrow arched, but we waited silently for her to continue without responding to the question. She allowed her eyes to wander the room again, trying to pull her thoughts into something coherent. They landed on one of the many globes taking up space. She watched as light began to bloom in an area over eastern Europe and wondered if the one that bloomed for her looked the same way back when her ability had begun to make itself known. 

"Well, uh, obviously my courses this semester are more psychic focused classes because that's technically my discipline and all, but none of them actually feel useful." She continued staring at that glowing spot. "I can't read minds. I can't astral project or channel auras. I'm not even particularly adept at psychic spells in general. Most of what I'm learning isn't applicable to anything I can actually do. The degree track for psychics is pretty narrow despite how varied our abilities are; obviously, next year I can tailor my dissertation to something more relevant, but-"

"And your first year? How did you find those classes?"

She could feel the already tense lines of her forehead pull together. "Fine? I mean they were just general courses so nothing really stuck out."

"None of them? Not favorite professors or projects?"

"No?"

A staccato knock interrupted before the Dean could continue his strange line of inquiry about Arielle's opinion of her class roster. Both of them turned to find the door opening and a women stepping surely into the room. Arielle recognized the prim, English face immediately and flushed. It was the woman that she'd not-so-delicately crashed into; Eliza if she recalled correctly. She didn't appear surprised to see the girl and simply walked past, turning around only to lean her hip against Fogg's desk. She was really only half sitting, but managed to look both casual and elegant with her hands resting over her raised knee.

"So," she said expediently, her voice stern even wrapped around the open vowel softened by her accent. Arielle wasn't quite sure what it was that she expected and wondered if this was the bad cop to the Dean's good cop.

"Am I in trouble?" she asked slowly.

"No" Fogg assured her at the same time Eliza asked, "Are you?"

The Dean, in response, send a mild glare at the older woman - one which she completely ignored - and then cleared his throat. "Given the circumstances of your current enrollment, Eliza here felt it was best that she personally look into your situation. I am simply here to act as an administrative proxy while the both of you speak." He waved a hand and settled back into his chair, pulling out a stack of paperwork and proceeding to ignore the two women.

Arielle turned her attention back to Eliza and found her leveling an evaluating gaze her direction. Blue met blue, and she got the distinct impression of distrust emanating from behind those eyes.

"I don't mean to be rude," she started. "But who exactly are you?"

The woman’s lips pursed in a way that was quintessentially English, but Eliza managed to make even that expression of distaste appear relatively mild and polite. "I'm a specialist in the area of memory alteration and suppression. No need to worry though, I'm not here to take any of yours." Her laugh was quiet but pointed. "As if I could."

Arielle shifted. "I don't quite understand."

"I may not be able to penetrate your wards, but that doesn't mean I can't have a good look at them from the outside." She leaned forward, lowering her chin slightly. "Check around for any cracks or holes that might be leaking out and causing your visions to go haywire."

The younger woman considered this. Upon initial inspection it seemed like a viable train of thought, but something felt off about it. Her mental wards weren't like a damn holding her visions in. They were more like a copper gate blocking magical radio signals from reaching her brain, the receiver. Nothing was leaking out because there was nothing there to leak. That was the most commonly accepted theory anyway. Again, it wasn't like there were many opportunities to test it.

It also felt highly invasive, allowing someone to poke around and try to find her mental weaknesses. Say that there was some sort of crack in her walls; what was there to stop this woman from digging in and tearing it open, making things worse?

"I don't think that's a good idea," Arielle said hesitantly, and again Eliza didn't appear surprised - but why even ask if she expected a no? "It's just that- It's not like I don't want to figure out what's going on. I, of all people, would like to get this all over with. It just doesn't seem like that would be the answer."

Eliza sighed. "You have a fair point, but it couldn't hurt, just in case."

"With all due respect-" It was with a fair amount of self restraint that Arielle kept her annoyed skepticism from oozing off of her tongue."-it could. As a mind specialist, you of course are aware of how delicate and easily damaged a clairvoyant's mind is by their own powers. I'm not going to risk something going wrong for the minimal chance that the problem was somehow related to my wards."

Eliza huffed, probably offended, but Arielle didn't particularly care. The Dean seemed to be amused despite the clear and palpable tension between the two women; that is, if the smirk that he was trying to hide was any indication. She began to suspect that his earlier annoyance wasn't misplaced, just misinterpreted. It was clear that calling this meeting wasn't actually his idea, and he thought it was as ridiculous as she did.

"If that's all, I would like to go now. Given the circumstances of my current enrollment, I actually have a fair amount of work to catch up on." Oh, that cough from Fogg sounded an awful lot like it was hiding laughter. She felt much more comfortable asserting herself with the realization that even if he wasn't on her side, Henry would still rather be doing something other that presiding over this farce.

She never understood the phrase 'pinched face' until she saw how Eliza's morphed. Her brows pulled together, both eyes and mouth tightening with the barely noticeable clench of her jaw. It was not a pleasant expression, but she also wasn't really a pleasant woman so at least it fit her.

"Well, then." She straightened her spine, lifting herself from her casual perch on the desk. "Should you reconsider then please let the Dean here know, and he can contact me."

"I promise you, that I won't need to." Arielle stood, her muscles already aching from having sat in one position for so long. "I'll take my leave."

"Thank you for your time." Fogg pulled out an empty glass that she suspected would soon be full. "If you could please make sure to close the door on your way out. I suspect Eliza may have some additional business that she would like to discuss with me."

She nodded, following his instructions and shutting the door quietly. She was half tempted to stay and try to see if she could hear something through the wood, but she figured he wasn't stupid enough to not have wards up against exactly that.

No one accosted her on her way out of the Administrative building, much to her relief. She considered heading straight back to Her room, but after that confusing mess of a meeting she thought that she might be deserving of a break. She'd scoped out what looked to be a quiet spot a while back. It was tiny lake adjacent to the Tree House Dorm that the Naturalists called home on the far North end of campus. It wasn't an auspiciously long walk, but she did have to cut through the busy center of campus. There were a few faces she recognized but no one she she knew well enough or who knew her well enough to exchange greetings. She tried not to think too hard on it. Being a solitary person hadn't bugged her when it was of her own volition, but holding herself apart from others because she had no other choice was depressing.

She trudged her way past bustling buildings until she spotted the lake just across the way. There were just a few students milling about, but most of them seemed to be either passing by or working on something that meant they probably wouldn't be bothered by her quiet present. As she got closer, however, she spotted a familiar head of floppy hair that made her reconsider the plan for an isolated outing.

Quentin sat along the edge of the water, his arms wrapped around his knees and a familiar messenger bag crumpled on the grass at his side. While she wasn't particularly excited about running into anyone from the cottage incident quite yet, Quentin was definitely one of the less stressful options to go with. She could certainly still avoid him if she truly wanted to - it's not like he's spotted her with eyes on the back of his head - but she kind of didn't want to. Quentin was nice. He somehow managed to be anxious and excitable while simultaneously being a soothing balm to interact with. He had deep maturity in his eyes, one that only came from the pain of life dealing something unfairly. It was just barely masked by the stuttering and blushing, but it was a look she recognized.

He jumped when she flopped down by his side, close enough that she almost crushed his bag. His eyes widened in surprise before recognition dawned in them.

"Ari." He said the shortened variation her name like he'd seen a ghost, and she immediately regretted inviting herself into his space unannounced.

"Sorry," she apologized. "I definitely wasn’t going for the uninvited guest vibe when I sat down."

He shook his head. "No, it's fine- well, I mean, it's not fine, but..." He trailed off, staring out onto the lake. His eyes were drawn and worried, exhaustion pouring off of him in palpable waves.

"If you need to be along, I can leave," she offered. "I’m the one who dropped in on you, but you should know that I am also completely cool with just chilling in silence if you want the company without the small talk." There was curious wet sheen to his eyes that he tried to hide by rubbing his face, and she chose not to comment on it. Seeing Quentin like this was a reminder that the world kept spinning, even when she was stuck in her own melodrama. He was stressed and hurting and it had nothing to do with her or her problems.

And wasn't that a relief, because it made the soft and grateful smile that bloomed across his face that much more endearing. He nodded, accepting her offer of quiet companionship and returning to whatever thoughts were apparently plaguing him. Arielle, for her part, just did what she did best and stretched out on the grass, breathing in the crisp air. 

It wasn't quite twilight yet, but the sun was low enough in the sky to be blocked by the nearby trees. The early evening breeze was chilled further as it skirted along the rippling lake water. It wasn't unpleasant, but acted as a sure sign of the progression of day into night. The air just felt different against her skin, as though she could feel the energy of the afternoon being burned off by the encroaching moonlight.

"I hurt a friend," Quentin sighed, as if resigning himself to it. "I mean, I saved her, and I don't regret it. I would do it again ten times over, but I- the thing is that I still hurt her." Arielle nodded, though she didn't think he saw it with has gaze still off in the distance. She didn't placate him or reassure him, just listened. "That's the hardest part, I think. Knowing that I did the right thing but it still feeling wrong." He sighed again.

She shifted to lay on her side facing him, propping her head up on her hand and considering his words. He didn't seem like the type to be purposefully malicious, though she'd be naive not to acknowledge that she couldn’t really know him that well after only a few meetings. Still, she was flattered that he considered her someone safe enough to confide in, even if it was still just on the vaguest of terms. She wanted to be worthy of that.

"People are stupid," she murmured, picking at the grass. "There's probably a more elegant way of wording it, but that's really the crux. We want what we want, no matter how much it might hurt us, and we get angry when someone else draws the line of what the acceptable threshold of pain for us to endure to get it. I think it's because we see our own worth in how much we are able to take on, but we see the worth in others as a reason not to let them take on as much?”

Quentin tilted his head back, still not looking back at her but clearly digesting her contribution. She had to resist the urge to cover his hand with hers, a physical connection to show her support. If someone even just a week ago told her that she’d be having this quiet, intimately soft interaction she would have brushed it off. It really wasn’t that she held herself apart from others, it was just easier to let go of lighthearted attachments in the end. She was a sucker for a melancholic soul, however; probably because she had one as well when all of the teasing and sarcasm was stripped away.

”That was surprisingly deep.” Quentin laughed, small and breathy as though he hadn’t expected much more than a halfhearted sympathetic apology.

She shrugged, rolling back over and feeling the action cause her bones to creek. “I’ve had more than my fair share of time to contemplate the wolf sacrificial nature of man,” she admitted.

Of course that’s what got him to look her in the eyes. She gave too much away, she realized. She was so used to just saying things that she forgot to stop and think about what he may know that she’d purposefully omitted. From his expression, her best guess would be _everything_. His gaze was searching, asking something that she couldn’t translate. This wasn’t about her though. It couldn’t be, not while she was trying so hard to support him and forget her own problems

”Your friend,” she whispered softly. “Will they be okay?”

And that was enough of an answer to his unasked question, a sad smile hovering on his face as he switched topics easily without pushing it.

”I think she will be, yeah. I just don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me.”

”Even if she doesn’t, I’m willing to bet that she’ll probably at least understand eventually.”

He laughed again, this time a little louder. “You know, most people wouldn’t reassured me that of course she’d forgive me.”

”Yeah, well I’ll refer you back to my previous point; people are stupid.” They shared a commiserating look. “Emotional responses don’t always adhere to logic - internal, external, or otherwise. Anyone who thinks they do is wrong.”

Quentin nodded in firm agreement, settling back to lean on his hands and stare at the sky. It wasn’t new knowledge to him, she could tell, and she suspected that might’ve related to his wavering air of anxious melancholy. “It was a Niffin,” he admitted quietly. “The thing that I saved her from. It was a Niffin and it was going to kill her, but it was- he was also her family, and she- she wanted to save him, but he was going to kill her.” He took a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have told you that. It’s really her private business, but-“

”Quentin.” He was shaking, and she’d only just realized it. “Quentin, it’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but if you do I’m here. I’m not going to tell anyone anything that I don’t have explicit permission to share. We both know I can keep quiet about potentially sensitive information.” She gave into the impulse to reach out and touch the top of his hand. When he didn’t pull away, she laid hers more firmly and curled their fingers together. “Even if it’s not me, you should probably talk to someone at least, someone outside of the situation. Yeah, it’s her business, but whatever it was happened to you too."

He shook his head like he couldn't believe she even existed. "Has anyone ever told you that you're too understanding?" he asked.

"I mean, I am a psychic."

"The only other psychic I know is an asshole." Still, his fingered tightened a fraction around hers.

"But Quentin, that's out secret," she mock whispered. "All psychics are assholes."

There was that smile that she was beginning to look forward to more and more each time it made an appearance. It was a smile laced with cynicism but bursting with indulgence, perfectly encapsulating her argument of logic versus emotion.

"Thank you," he said, looking down at their connected hands, and she was suddenly once again hit with the urgent thought of _too intimate too close too much_. She resisted the urge to pull away, indulging herself and not wanting to hurt his feelings.

"Of course. I don't don't know how you've managed to have a more exciting semester than me, all things considered. Everything interesting seems to happen while I'm conked out."

"Exciting isn't the word I'd use." His mouth twisted in distaste. "Between Alice and the Beast and, I can't believe this even still qualifies, the insane amount of magical homework? I almost wish I'd never found out that magic was real."

"You wash your mouth out this instant!" She took the opportunity to pull her hand away, using it to push his shoulder in mock outrage.

"I said almost!" he swatted at her in return, tilting his head down to hide his flushed cheeks behind his hair. "It's been pretty crazy though. I don't know if it's the average experience for a magician to have a monster appear from another world to specifically attempt to kill them, but I can't say that it’s been my favorite part."

"Yeah, even that is a bit out there," she conceded. "I heard about that attack, but only second hand. You said people were calling it the Beast, right?"

He shifted uncomfortably, but nodded his head affirmatively. "Uh huh. We think- well, I think that it's from Fillory. That's my running theory anyway."

"I remember." It'd been about a minute or so before she passed out, but she remembered as much from the cottage. "The others don't agree?" Arielle wasn't even sure who the _others_ were at this point, but she automatically didn't like them. She had many complaints about her ability, _many_ , but it being inaccurate wasn't one of them. Sure, what she told Quentin may have been more ambiguous in it's original context, but the significance of the timing and the exactness of the wording was evidence enough on it's own.

"They think that I'm trying to make connections where there aren't any because, well, given how much the books mean to me, it just seems- yeah." He was frustrated, she could tell, and rightly so.

"I'm going to tell you an indisputable fact that no opinion can make false, okay?" He shrugged, but didn't interrupt. "Quentin, I have it on good authority that the Beast is from Fillory."

Both of his eyebrows flew up before tilting in amused exasperation. "I know, it's weird, but this clairvoyant woman that I know already told me that."

"And clairvoyants are never wrong," she bantered back in mock seriousness.

"I, um, I'm beginning to see that."

"Only beginning?"

"Just barely."

They both relaxed again. Talking with Quentin was like that, waves of tension and release - touching on difficult topics then letting the pain of them dissolved with a well placed quip that allowed them reprieve before jumping right back in. It was a difficult balance to find with others, but they'd fallen into it without even trying. She wanted to relieve some of his burdens, and at the same time she wasn't so adverse to allowing him to catch a glimpse of her own.

"Arielle?" There was something hovering at the edge of his voice, and her gut tightened with not-entirely-pleasant anticipation. 

"Yeah?" She tried to remain as calm and collected as possible, but she had a strong idea of where their conversation was turning. She wouldn't stop it in it's tracks this time; the idea of him knowing her beyond the _I'm used to it_ veneer was terrifying, but it didn't scare her as much as it might've with someone else.

"I don't want to pry-"

"It's okay." Her reassurance was preemptive. She didn't want him to think that he was forcing her to share anything she wasn't willing to. "Anything you want to ask. It's okay."

If he was as overwhelmed at receiving her explicit trust as she was giving it, it didn't show. Quentin nodded, maintaining that small distance between them but angling himself to face her more fully.

"I, uh, started doing some research - after that book thing with the Hedges, I mean." She swallowed, understanding without him having to say so that she'd been the topic of that research. "I didn't get very far, because- well, it felt weirdly invasive, I guess? Like, every other discipline is kind of impersonal by comparison." She nodded. "I'm not going to ask why you didn't say anything, because I honestly get it. I just- how are you? Like, really, how are you doing with everything, because it seems like a lot."

The question hit harder than any of the myriad of others she'd been expecting. Sure, her situation garnered her an annoying amount of sympathy, but all of that sympathy was based on assumptions. She was dying, so she must feel horrible about it, so the proper response it to apologize. That was really the part that got to her, the idea that people thought they knew how she would feel about something they see as a tragedy but to her it was just been her life.

"You know, I honestly can't remember the last time someone actually asked me that." She chuckled. "It's... a lot sometime, yeah, but-" she pushed out a harsh breath, trying to organize her thoughts. "It's stressful in the same way that a surprise test is. Like, I'm frustrated because I think people expect me to be more devastated about it than I am, and I get that too, I think? For someone finding out that this is my life, for them it's a sudden development. It’s a complete shift in their perspective of me that comes out of nowhere, and because that's how they connect to it, that's how they expect me to feel as well. But it's not - a sudden development, that is. It's something I've always known and something I've lived with my whole life. I'm used to it, but it's not really something that other people can fathom getting used to. Obviously it still sucks, and sometimes it does get to me. I wouldn't be human if it didn't. I just can't let myself wallow in that because being upset about something I can't change isn't going to magically change it, and that is a hell of a quick way to spiral. So, when I feel bad I let myself feel it, and when I feel okay I make the most of it."

She hadn't intended to make a mini speech, but there were so many nuances that were difficult to articulate succinctly. Emotions were too complex to shove into an easy little box and maybe that's why it annoyed her so much when other people assumed they understand how she felt without actually asking. Something of that must have struck a chord with Quentin, because his eyes were shining with emotion when she looked back at him.

"You're amazing," he said like it was a passing thought he didn't realize had even escaped his lips. There was awe there that made her feel uncomfortable.

She groaned dramatically. "Not you too, Quentin!"

"No, I mean it!" His smile was soft, though it was curtained with a sad knowing. "Depression isn't quite the same thing, but it's hard to remember when it's bad that is gets better, and it's even harder to enjoy the good when it feels useless because you know it's just going to get bad again."

"I guarantee I'm only functioning because I'm too stubborn not to."

"Whatever works."

They settled back into something more comfortable, trading dull barbs and laughing quietly. Quentin went over his theories about the Beast, and Arielle filled in a gaps with a fresh perspective. Friend wasn't the right word quite yet, but it was something close - a connection that she couldn't wait to explore.

"Thank you," she said when the stars had started becoming more obvious in the darkening sky above them. "For being you."

He smiled and held out a hand to help her up, having just stood himself.

"Any time, Ari."

Blinking, she let herself get pulled up but stumbled at his amused and slightly surprised face.

"Uh." His mouth twitched. "Did you know that your eyes do a thing when you have a vision?"

“I mean, I've read about it, but-" She paused. "Oh, did I...?"

"Yeah, nothing crazy, but- yeah." His face twitched again. "A little confusing, but probably something that'll be obvious when it comes up."

She pursed her lips ruefully. "Mysterious."

"What can I say? I'm a man of mystery."

"A locked vault. I can see that."

They went their separate ways, but not before Quentin dropped her off at the doors of the Consciousness Building with a smile and a wave, heading back they way they came and toward the Physical Cottage. Arielle made her way up to her room, grabbing her pills from the back of her dresser with the thought that it'd probably be best to keep them on her person when she went out from then on, just in case. She didn't plan to spend too much time around others, she wasn't that reckless, but she resolved not to completely isolate herself either. She would definitely need a plan to head back to her room quickly should the need to a take a dose arise anyway, because it turned out that morphine? It apparently was something knocked her right out.

Arielle was used to heavy dreamless sleep, so her drug induced nap was weird to say the least. It was something to adjust to, being tired enough to sleep but alert enough to feel like she'd actually be half awake the entire time. The lack of pain was nice, but the lack of actual rest would be the same issue in a different form.

It wasn't surprising to find herself glaring at the analogue clock hands pointing to 3:00 AM as if they were mocking her. She tried to roll back over with the intention on actual sleep, her bones popping and muscles stretching with each shift, but her brain refused to shut down. Great.

She flopped on her back and stared at the ceiling, offended at just how awake she was. Weren't pain killers supposed to make her tired? Sure, she passed out pretty fast, but if staying asleep was going to be an issue, then it was _going to be an issue_. Dragging herself into a sitting position, she rubbed her palms against her sandy eyes. The pressure bordered painful. Maybe being awake wasn't so bad because less people would be around to bother her with their loitering. It was equally likely that she would end up bored out of her mind.

She hesitated to leave her room, already having pushed fate by spending time with Quentin and triggering a vision, but the late hour made it less of a risk. It felt odd, like she was sneaking out. Logically, she was an adult woman and didn't need to ask permission to walk around her own house, but she also expected Lipson, or Fogg, or even Eliza to pop out from the shadows to scold her and send her trailing back with her tail between her legs. No one did though, the two others wandering around completely ignored her as she padded her way down to the kitchen on the first floor. One student was tucked away in his little meditation nook and the other was heading back to bed herself after grabbing a glass of water.

Arielle's mission was tea. Not that she was typically a fan. She found that most tea tasted the same to her, like watered down grass and by the time she added enough sugar to make it palatable, whatever health benefits it may have had were a moot point. She needed to try something though, and she knew they kept an overflowing communal stock on hand because of how it helped 'calm the mind'.

Rifling through the cupboard in the kitchen that was really more of a kitchenette, she stumbled across a box covered with images of fruit and cinnamon sticks, and she thought that might not be such an awful choice. It required less sugar than her last experience, so that was a plus. She did hesitate, briefly wondering if the box belonged to one of the others, but then she figured it made little sense for it to be tucked into the cabinet with the rest of the tea if that were the case.

She was annoyed that she was awake, but it was more the principle of the thing. She wouldn't go so far as to say that she felt rested, but she was alert. That itself was an issue. Being functional after what was arguable less sleep than she got even on her worst days annoyingly reminded her of how tired she felt regularly. She could see how it might be easy to take her pills when they weren't strictly needed for that reason alone. Maybe she'd see if she could find a naturalist who could throw something together to get a similar wakefulness without the same risk of addiction.

The kettle was electric, thank gods. She didn't thing that she'd have the patience to stand around waiting for the old plug-in hot plate to heat up. She was struck with the need to _go_ now that she'd given up on staying in bed. It was like a mental itch and she wondered if a walk around campus might help.

Focus. Tea.

With a mug full of hot water, sugar, and glorified leaf juice, Arielle snagged one the the many seating pillows scattered throughout the main floor before stepping outside. The Consciousness Building didn't have a front porch like the Cottage did - it may have housed students, but it was still an academic building where classes took place. Instead it had a low set of wide stairs that many of the residents hung out on when they didn't want to be indoors anymore. It was usually quite popular, but as the clock ticked closer to 4:00 and then to 5:00 Arielle remained alone. Her tea was long gone as the sky began to lighten, her mug discarded and traded for a light sweater and a book on the history of Kanji in pre and post industrial sigils.

The closer it got to daylight, however, the stronger the urge to move - to go - settled into her bones. She'd already gotten up to pace three times and both of her legs bounced with an uncomfortable current of energy skimming just under her skin. She was so keyed up that she dropped her book and jumped back up to her feet when the door to the student quarters slammed open behind her. 

"Penny!" He looked no better than she did, his eyes flitting back and forth with an annoyed glare, like he was angry at the trees for having the nerve to sway in the wind.

"No time," he grunted, already striding down the stairs two steps at a time. "I've got a nerd whose ass I need to kick after I get him out of whatever fucking mess he's gotten himself into."

Of course, with an explanation as vague as that, Arielle had no choice but to follow him.

It was her first time being around Penny with any sort of mutual extended motion involved, and she became aware of how much longer his legs were than hers when she had to take two sets for every one of his just to keep up. It didn't help that he clearly wanted to get to where he was going sooner rather than later. She didn't say anything as she trailed after him - needing to focus more on breathing because, man, he was fast - but he was obviously aware of her and ended up semi explaining things as they passed around the side of the Library.

"My old roommate has zero fucking wards," he threw over his shoulder. "He just projects all the time and I want to knock him out just to get him to shut up with his god damn nerd books and Taylor Swift. I can't even get any sleep without him barging his way in." That last part was a bitten off grumble, and Arielle's brows furrowed with half recognition. Her discomforting suspicion doubled when she realized where it was they were heading.

The last time she was at the Physical Cottage was a twisted memory fogged with vertigo and pain. It was different in the early mornings, the energy of it's party atmosphere burning off with the morning dew into something more serene. It put her more on edge than if it'd been bursting with people, though that could've also been in part due to the aggressiveness of their approach.

Penny's boots thumped hollowly against the wooden steps, not a single care given to the pair of partiers who'd apparently fallen asleep on the porch swing. They grumbled unhappily when the thumps gave way to the banging of his fist on the heavy front door. She almost felt bad because it loud enough that even her head rang slightly - she couldn't imagine how it would have felt with a hangover (well, she could), but he didn't let up until the door swung open. It was answered by a panicked looking Todd.

"What's going on?" he gasped, as though her sprinted there to meet them. "Who's dead?"

"You're going to be if you don't take us to Quentin right now." If possible, Todd looked even more worried, his eyes widening when he spotted Arielle hovering behind darker man's intimidating frame. She flinched at Quentin's name. She'd suspected, of course. There were only so many first year, book obsessed, Taylor Swift fans that she personally knew, but the confirmation still stuck her. Whatever it was that was going on, it drug Penny across campus despite his flippant explanation, and she was suddenly grateful that she decided to tag along.

"It there- Is Quentin in trouble?" Todd's eyes bounced back and forth between the two psychic students. 

"Shut the fuck up, and just help us." Penny pushed past the other man, marching up the stairs to the second floor with more familiarity than Arielle, who trailed behind with Todd.

"Thank you," she said quietly as they made their way up behind him. "I honestly have zero clue what's going on either, but he was agitated enough to come all this way so I figure it's probably serious."

His dark eyes softened, and he shrugged. "Yeah, anything to help."

They met Penny on the landing, ignoring his glare. The physical kid took the lead, guiding them to a door on the right and across from what looked to be a communal bathroom. Once it was clear which room they were heading towards, Penny pushed past again and began pounding on the door - Arielle wasn't sure if it was actually louder than before or if it just felt that way because they were in a more enclosed space.

"Quentin, get your nerdy ass out of bed so I can kick it!"

"Well, that's one way to get into a guys pants." Eliot was lounging against a doorframe at the end of the hall, none of them having noticed him room opening. His body language was casual, but there was suspicion in his gaze. "Any reason you're trying to break down Quentin's door, Penny?" He said the travellers name with such distain that Arielle wondered if there was a story behind the dripping distate. Then again, Penny was Penny and he probably just brought that out in people. Regardless, she was defensive on her roommate's behalf. 

"Your boy toy called _me_ here, Waugh. I just want to find out why he felt the need to drag me into his freaky ass subconscious." She stored away that nugget for analysis. The more that Penny revealed the more things felt off, like she didn't have all of the puzzle pieces but there were still enough that she could tell it wasn't the picture on the box. If this was just about Quentin having weak wards, he still shouldn't have reached Penny all the way across campus. If Quentin had been purposefully calling out, however?

Eliot sighed, long and dramatic. He pushed himself off of the frame, rolling his eyes. "Fine, I'll grab Q for you, but only because you asked so kindly." The side eye was stong in this one, Obi-Wan. "I'm keyed into his room's wards anyway, so it's safer than letting you hack at them because you didn't get your way." He placed his hand on the handle, but then hesitated before twisting it open. "Todd, get the hell out of here."

"Oh!" The boy in question jumped, literally jumped, his mouth falling open. "I just-"

"Todd."

"Yeah, okay, I'll just-" he stepped backward, throwing a thumb back over his shoulder. "-go."

Eliot scoffed, watching his retreat. He made no move to acknowledge Arielle's presence. "Oh, Quentin~" He singsonged, letting himself in once the other boy was tripping his way down the stairs. There was now answer. Quentin's room was dark, a little cluttered, and completely empty of the magician that they were looking for.

"Fuck!" Penny clenched his hands into fists before dragging them through his hair in a Quentin-like gesture. "We need to find him."

Eliot closed the door quietly, waving a dismissive hand. "He's fine, maybe he got lucky and ended up in some girl's bed."

Arielle scoffed, both at the very not subtle implication that Quentin was anything but a complete disaster bisexual, and the uneasy way that Eliot brush off of their worry. "Do you honestly think that _Penny_ would be this invested if he wasn’t one hundred percent think that something was wrong?"

Penny made a sound of disagreement, but Eliot didn't even acknowledge her scathing question. He brushed past them and made his way downstairs while the other two followed.

"Look," he sighed. "It was a party. He's probably sleeping it off under something, or someone, or-"

The front door opened, drawing Arielle's attention. Kady stepped in, looking surprised when her eyes lifted to find the three of them hovering between the stairs and the living room where the telekinetic had been meandering to.

"Hey?" She seemed confused, which, given the early hour of the day, Arielle understood. It did make her wonder where Kady had been that she was returning from so early in the morning.

Arielle was typically someone who was just fine not having all of the information. Half of her existence was knowing things without actually knowing them, and so it was something she learned to be okay with. Too much was outside of her control and if she tried to plan for every little possibility it would drive her insane. Something about her wary attachment, or maybe it was the burgeoning worry for Quentin because of the dangerous situations he'd continually found himself in, had her on edge and needing to analyze and understand every facet of what was going on. This was a man who'd been targeted. Of course him going missing was and should be alarming, so if Arielle watched Kady's entrance with a touch of hesitant suspicion then no one could blame her.

"Where you been?" Penny asked, only half paying attention.

"I had to run into the city," she responded casually. Her eyes again jumped between the three. "What's up?"

She was too soft, Arielle thought that's what was throwing her off. Her interactions with Kady had been frankly minimal, but she'd had an edge of knowing confidence that manifested like an intangible energy off of her person. Now, though, the edge was nonexistent. Too soft. She may not be involved in the Quentin situation, but she was involved in something and she was trying to hide it.

Who at this school wasn't trying to hide something though?

"Your lover man here thinks our little Q got roofied last night." The statement itself was ridiculous, a casual and flippant wall that Eliot put up was starting to crumble. He cared for Quentin. That was was obvious. It hit Arielle that he hid it behind snark and a party persona, but that he genuinely cared. Unlike her and Penny, he coped with that worry by pretending everything was fine. She understood him a little better, but he still made her angry with his flippancy. There was a time and a place, and now was not that time nor that place.

"Look," Penny said. "We covered the house. Let’s start checking the lab, the library, or whatever." He stalked into the living room, his shoulder knocking into Eliot's hard enough that even Arielle felt the satisfaction of the released aggression. The taller man didn't seem to care.

She kept an inconspicuous eye on Kady, watching the breathe of indecision before the words fell out of her mouth almost as if on impulse rather than conscious choice.

"I know where he is."

She led them to a innocuous door tucked into the corner hall behind the stairwell. Upon first glance it looked to be a coat closet. Jackets, bags, and miscellaneous shoes were half hung and thrown in with little regard to where they landed. It made Arielle's brain itch. Upon further inspection though, the pile of clothes littering the floor began to look more and more like a distinctive human lump and Arielle was quickly on her knees pulling fabric away to reveal Quentin's sleeping face.

"He crawled in here and passed out around 1:00." Kady explained. "Anyway, I've seen weirder."

Arielle touched his cheek lightly. "Quentin?"

Penny, who she didn't realize had knelt down beside her, was not so gentle in his approach. He slapped the opposite cheek a couple times. It wasn’t hard enough to injure, but it was hard enough to sting if the sharp sound was any indication.

"Well, he's breathing at least," Eliot murmured behind them, and Arielle's jaw clenched.

"An astounding observation, Eliot," she said through grit teeth. "We'll make note of it."

She didn't have to look back to tell she struck a defensive nerve. "Do we have a problem here, Pet?"

"I don't know, do we?"

"Listen," Kady rolled her eyes. "As much as I would love to see you get your ass handed to you be a tiny redhead, we do actually have a problem that isn't directly related to your bruised ego."

"Fuck off."

"Seriously," she groaned. "We probably need to get the Dean or something. This feels more serious than a foul party spell."

Arielle let her head fall back, settling her weight fully on the floor. Kady was right, they needed to get the Dean.

Great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never been on morphine, so the descriptions in this fic are based on online research and my own personal experience being on muscle relaxers. #ChronicPain
> 
> I'm going to be working on a maybe super spoilery side fic while I take a writing break to plan out chapter content soon. Each tiny chapter of the side fic will be one of Arielle's visions, but from the perspective of the person she's talking to/having the vision of. I wanted to keep it more of a mystery in the main fic because I'm writing from Arielle's perspective here, but I also really wanted to explore other character perspectives as well~


End file.
